ME AND THE GUN

I am five again,
and melancholia seems far from my head. I am submissive to you
and just you. I bet you knew it too.
I've got it in my hand
by the pull of a finger I'll be in bits
and my family will be doing splits
wondering what the hell went on
Me and The Gun
we don't get along
we dance around hidden in our minds and fight tired runs
we don't have enough things to do
but pull each other's leg
and trick each other for the sake of it.
If I was still five
fifteen or twelve, I'd
be yours again and
that's what I wish I still had.
I still wish I had you
so I can recall things I never dreamed about
last year.
It's been awhile since you came in my dreams
and I'll be damned if you
fuck up my sobriety again.
I don't remember your name
but I got those eyes and feelings
stuck in my head.
fucked up from the beginning time
but all we are is words to rhyme
at end of this poem.
Baby you're hard to miss.
Me and The Gun,
we're borderline
but the gun ain't real
I'll let you figure it out.

this actually about my depression, not about a person. I just wanted to state that - Pamela x