Evolving Emotions: Trust- Poetry

Pathological

A gun to his heart

a bullet struck a rib on its way

to the living room wall

I knew a boy

struck by lightening in the third grade

and again in the fourth

In April my legs gave way

like a rainy day

I tumbled down the cliffside

I suspect she killed her husband

last autumn, in the evening

I heard crunching

A beam of light

cut through the tree line

and took the cow across the pier

I was birthed speaking

syllabic sentences

and passionate paragraphs

My first words were,

“Don’t trust a thing,”

because it’s pathological, I promise