the last duel

Our fights were duels,

10 foot long dinner tables,

tears in our eyes,

Our guns drawn

harmlessly pointed at eachother,

an innocent game of life and death,

white flags hung as decor in the house we built,

our white linen sheets acted more so as white flags,

a stalemate that became routine.

You never pulled the trigger

even though it would’ve been so much easier.

Im beginning to think you didn’t care enough

to pull that trigger

and clean up the blood.

Our white flags became bloodstained,

you never pulled the trigger

even with the knowledge that the gun remained bulletless.