Small Prey

Two sides to a fight
And you're the third wheel.
You dodge steel, take flight
Down the road
As far as ownership doesn't go

Til the dead ends are met
And you're cornered
Caught

Shots
Are
Fired
Before "stop" makes it out your mouth.

A feast
With tender skin and
Innocent eyes
The kind that satisfies those
Starving for blood

You wonder how it tastes
Your pain, between their lips
And conclude it must take a certain resolve
To have your suffering be worth the crime.

Are you nothing but a wall?
A punching bag
The small to make others feel tall

Every day is the same
Each bullet drives deeper and deeper
Into the crevices of your heart

Miraculously
Sadly
You hang on by the thinnest of threads
Shredded hope litters the floor
What remains to cushion your fall.

There's two sides to the fight
Too much fuel
Not enough places to hide
And you're the deer
Caught dead in the headlights.

-the easy target

You're invisible--until you're not. Suddenly you're the focus of everyone's fire simply because you have the most potential to get burnt. You can probably guess the story behind this poem. (I was pretty angry when I wrote this.)

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