Van-Dunkelschreiber

"That's what they all say." Her eyes were a graveyard. Flickering with the remains of too many ghosts Each holding a tear of her soul in transparent hands. Fingers locked around each piece like chains Still on display despite the rapid fading colours Emptied. Slowly emptied Till they're dropped to the floor like shotgun shells Each going out with a bang and a hit bang and a miss bang and a hit They use her throat like a gun barrel Fire hit reload Fire hit reload They don't check to see if they've hit their mark All they know is that they rub her throat raw with every bullet they make her choke on. She refers to them as they but I'd never get