i am a euphemism for stupid,
fighting a battle that was rigged for me to lose;
and in between these threads
are woven in
the bullets i had fired at the enemy i had.
here i crawl,
towards the head stone set aside for me.
i’ll use my spilt blood on my epitaph
–engrave my foolishness in stone.
somewhere, in the melting snow,
shaping the shreds of this december,
lies the round that had been fired.
if it hadn’t been so foggy,
maybe i could have seen
the mirror on the other side;
pistol to pistol,
the battle of suicide.
(C) Marie Meyers, 2013