Spent Casings

I return. The shooter is still there.

Hands merged with guns, his specter has no eyes.

Even if he could see, I’m not part of his world… his rage, his hell stuck on repeat.

His prison.

My ghost touches her bullet wounds.

And leaves.


Copyright © by Jason H. Abbott, All Rights Reserved.

Discover more of my Aethereal Musings.

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