Poet # Three

It started as a trick
Simple child’s play
Who would’ve predicted that night
Would haunt me to this day

 We were young and restless
And looking for some fun
So you can imagine our excitement
When we found his father’s gun

 It was his idea, really
And although I had concerns
I didn’t dare voice them
Afraid of being spurned

 I did ask him if it was loaded
In response, he rolled his eyes
“Don’t be ridiculous, Samantha.
I’ve done this loads of times.

 “I know how to work these things.
C’mon Sam, it’ll be fine!”
I nodded, trusting the boy
I wanted so desperately to be mine

We amused ourselves for a while
Making sounds, not touching the trigger
But eventually my male companion
Started to have itchy fingers

 A malicious grin on his face,
He dealt me a wicked dare
Knowing I wouldn’t refuse
Anything he cared to share

The task was seemingly simple
Knock on the door of a hag
Fire a blank and bam!
Run away, zig and zag

 He’d watch from the left of the door
Then we’d meet at our secret base
And we would laugh merrily
Over the look upon her face

I smiled ever so feebly
And reached down for the gun
Noting that in my hands
It seemed to weigh a ton

 I crept up the sidewalk
Until I hit the step
Rapped three times with the knocker
My hands moist with sweat

The door creaked ominously open
I hurriedly stepped back
Pulled the trigger and gasped
As the gun erupted with a crack

The recoil spun me right
My thoughts muddling as I fell
I opened my eyes warily
Casting them about for the shell

 I winced as I pushed myself up
My wrist was surely cracked
I looked up and took in the hag
Stunned but fully intact

But my sigh of relief caught
When I saw the pool of blood|
Leaking from a figure by the door -
The dead body of my love

The End

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