The gun,
Cold in his hand.
He had a shot
But should he take it?

Tucked away
In the country
An old castle of a home
Boards protesting
With each step
It was a place
Vampires would’ve inhabited
Centuries ago
Opaque and cold
A place…
He despised.
Not just hated.
But it kept
A corner of his

Falling on the distant
The sun breaking,hot
Through the clouds…
He had a shot,
One shot.
He would take it…

Echoing across the
Cold as the steel in his hand
Slicing the empty air
The shot was made
The body,
The job,


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s