This is about all the silent guns.

Bullets that left the chamber without a sound.

They left some very silent corpses.

Heavy things, corpses.

You wouldn’t think so with the soul so out of it,

but the beating heart of the drum in it was gone

and that made all the difference.

 

About the tape plastered over their lips

“Was that necessary”,

asked the detective

“When really no one listened in the first place”

“Probably”

said the corpse,

“I didn’t stop, after all”

“And besides,”

“my teeth know their skin,”

“they taste blood.”

The detective closed the body bag.

Corpses don’t talk,

he needed a drink, he got a therapist instead.

 

“I don’t care,”

three words, three syllables.

Makes it important, doesn’t it.

Only if you think so.

Some people believe in the rule of three.

Others would never even consider it,

the rule of seven must be more important

 

“Nothing.”

Is all she ever thought she says.

Its all anyone listens to.

Why talk when the light of reality,

only shines on you to say,

“no one needs your words,”

“If they did they would care,”

“about what you said.”

 

Warnings go unheeded

When the

PoP.

Bang.

Of guns,

shower into the night,

louder than the rain upon your window.

Silent as the grave,

you lay over the covers

covering your breathing.

As if it will help.

 

The souls of the innocent,

they don’t stay, they don’t haunt.

They’re innocent,

not brave.

You wonder if they notice,

the lack of heart,

beating in their chest.

 

The last thing anyone saw about her,

was the pit falls and dreamy smiles,

was the shiny hair and shiny teeth,

was the fake lipstick stains and the faker laughs.

Whoever saw anything other than that.

Whoever dreamed that the bulldozer,

she drove,

drove bodies into pits deeper than her eyes.

Whoever caught her die.

 

Another moon above the stormy ocean.

Sailing and sailing the sailors started to beg.

Water they needed.

Lungs they had filled.

Drowned men before them.

Begging for a cleaner kill.

Water was the only thing they couldn’t get to.

Not over the water logged corpses.

 

Many fled the streets in panic.

The gunshots followed,

not a single bullet wasted.

They made a point not to hurt the innocent.

None were innocent in this war.

 

Conviction followed the steely eyes,

and the guns that never stopped firing.

Lighting fires of desolation,

in the hearts of weary men.

A message to them all that day,

“they will not stop”

“they will not perish”

“until we make it so.”

 

Loyalty in the hearts of men,

breed love in the hearts of brothers.

They would.

Fight.

Love.

War.

Together and never apart.

For that was the family they loved.

 

When the black coats of hunters

stood before them.

They’re dreams would be haunted,

until they could hope to return the deadly favor.

With silver bullets and bloody knives.

A flash in an alleyway.

Nobody left alive.

 

“An eye for an eye.”

“Doesn’t it leave the whole world blind.”

The smoke curled over the gravestone.

“By this grave,”

“I’d rather the world be ashes than blind.”

The oath burned his tongue.

 

Roses fell with abandon.

Blood dripping like black from ink

from red petals.

They never saw it coming.

They bought roses regardless.

They knew she liked tradition.

She didn’t like roses.

 

Gold and silver only glittered in sunlight.

They glittered then, in the light of the fire.

Ashes and ashes.

Bitter and black.

Oil paintings burned like kindling,

and the money rained and railed.

 

He smiled a vicious smile.

A baring of teeth.

An oath kept, by the light of day.