Thrusting my hand into
the barrel
I scrapped it off with
my teeth
began chewing on gun
powder
grit of regret rubs my
gums raw
rows in a garden grow
like soldiers
planting my feet with
flowers
trying not to be
strangled by weeds.
Broken glass turns to
sand
castles protected by a
trench
full of watered down
blood.
-rach
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