Six

Burning, burning

Six

I stare down
The sight of my gun
I see
A reflection on the glass staring back at me
A barrel poised
Safety’s off and bullets loaded

The wind carries smells of
Smoke and blood
Screams in the breeze
My finger twitches
No longer about who can hit the
Shot

But who has the guts to pull the
Trigger
Finger ready to go
Legs ready to tip
A fall to stop the fight
But caught by thick rope

Never touching the ground
Until lowered beneath into
Deep recesses of heat where
The pointed, three-tongued fork
Will greet me with its lick

“Quitter” They all would hiss
“Why let yourself succumb?”
“Sinner! Failure! Sinner!”
“I lost!” I’d say in hissing harmony
The third criminal
Could not be saved

Not my body to blame
Keep the nails out of my palms
Reach them higher
My eyes act as portals
“Crucify! Crucify!”
My mind upon a cross