they were
2 men.
pointing guns at me.
they were real.
one black
one shiny mettalic grey.
It cant be the movies.
I looked write inside
the small black hole.
not into
the men's eyes.

there would come
something to
free the blood
of me
and make a scene.

by celine charchol

Other poems of CHARCHOL (3)

Comments (1)

is there anybody out there empty room