Stephanie Driessel, Frozen

Lifeless limbs and plummeting gut,

a beat that pounds in my ears

in my skull

drowning out the street sounds around us.


The numbing cold radiates from my torso

to the crown of my head,

to the tingling tips of my immobile fingers and toes.


The matte black barrel,

worn and shiny at the edges,

and the whitened flesh of his knuckles,

clutchingthe grip,

violently evict all thoughts of home and love and future and leave … nothing.


Breathing in short shallow gasps

my vision tunnels,

and the gun pointed at my face takes center stage.

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