I have been shot.
One bullet at a time.
Till the piercing felt fine.
The legs went weak and numb.
What an innocent crime.
I have been shot.
Oft at the softer fold.
The bed cramming noises untold.
The mystery mornings, bargain.
And the soul was sold.
I have been shot.
Sharp pain in the spine.
The shadow of a friend from behind.
The blue rolling over the red.
A lesson of a kind.
I have been shot.
Straight in the rib pot.
The curious beats in a rhythmic rot.
The bleeding love spitting insolence.
Albeit half-dead on spot.
I have been shot.
Twice to utterly blur the view.
The wound patently impossible to sew.
The blinking pauses for an eternal sleep.
Now dreams would be few.
I have been shot.
Conclusively for the good.
The comfortably numb, there I stood.
The calculations and wisdom silenced.
Death has never been rude.
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Context - As the shot from a bullet hits the skin and pierces deep into the flesh, all in a flash. Yet the pain is slow and growing with each moment, until numb. Maybe you relate to the hurt parts of your body and soul where the bullets (people/situations/emotions) have hit you. On you to interpret the rest. You shall heal or you shall halt.
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