she could have been
the last
one,
a long line of
pretty faces before hers.
broken
like the shell
of an almond,
my heart
tossed on a shelf
littered with empty shell casings.
she was a pistol
with a grip
to grab the substance of a man;
left for
dead in the carnage
of her passing.
kiss her for me
if you see her
and tell her where to find
me--
I'll be at the bar with nothing
but a
burned out,
hollowed soul.
©Gary Coker II, 2011
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