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Love is handing someone a loaded gun,
aiming it at your heart,
and praying like hell that they never pull the trigger.
I guess that's why when people tell me,
"You dodged a bullet;"
I want to instinctually say,
"no."
Because no,
I didn't.
I felt every single one rip through my flesh and echo throughout the chambers of my chest,
As you emptied that clip
Over
and over
and over
again.
I didn't dodge a bullet.
I didn't dodge anything.
You shot me once, and I let you play target practice with my body as if I were the dummy and you were the instructor.
Every shot carefully placed to cause the most damage.
A kill shot every time.
Love shouldn't have to come with a bullet proof vest.
Love shouldn't come with back up clips and target practices.
Love shouldn't even come with a gun.
I hope the next man that I give my heart to,
has never even seen one
before.

Thank you for your response! My poems are usually more of a spoken word type of style/rhythm, so the struggle with the longer lines was definitely there as to either shorten them, or to keep them as I would personally speak them aloud.

Who hurt you

Which time? haha

Guns are good and fun. Anyone who tells you otherwise is a filthy commie