I wish your guns shot flowers instead of bullets
Then maybe instead of falling onto the cold tile,
I’d fall into a garden.
Instead of my senses coming to an end
they’d come to life.
I’d smell sweetness instead of rusted iron
I’d see the color yellow instead of red
I’d taste honey instead of a bitter zest.
I’d hear laughter instead of screams
Id feel smooth petals instead of rough metal.
I’d come alive
If only your guns shot flowers.