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Five poems by Louis Bruno

To My Bullet

You were always there for me.

I kept a gun underneath the pillow. 

I never killed anybody, but you made me safe.

I always kept you at my side when I wrote. 

To remind me. 

To look at when I didn’t have friends. 

The hollow tip. 

It would have been in my head. 

But you speak to me. 

Nobody realizes who I am.

Nobody can look at me. The person writing this has been dead since Janurary 29th, 2023. 

A few days before my birthday. 

37 years old.

A failure. 

A miserable dick. 

21 books, 119 unpublished, and still alone.

I can’t look at myself in the mirror. 

Without seeing that bullet. 


It kept me safe. 

But I feel small. 

All my weapons gone. 

With only my imagination. 

The minefield. 

The powerful chasm that can end all life.

A hollow point. 


I miss it.

I miss how it makes me feel. 


But I don’t have to hurt myself. 

I don’t have to kill myself. 

The bullet can still protect me.

Just not inside me.



What I Think

You're a soft spring rain 

In a desert cave: No dust no words on my child’s grave. 


Watching heavy seas 

Beat the breast of the shell. 

Cut the knife 

With two private stones. 

One asks to be loved. 

The other hated. 


Tests. Tests. Tests. 

Who is testing whom? 

The rat wants to seek. 

The cow grazes. 

I want no part of the sand

In between my feet.



A Candle for Lauren

A prelude to sex. 

The moon asks for a kiss goodnight. 

Careful joints that bend and tea kettles boil on the stove.

Burning the tortilla on the stove, not in the pan.

A good witch always careful and loving.

Even when she was mad.


Her scouts move with the wind.

Harold gathers ammunition.

Raul sits atop pillow mountain.

Cases of brittle joints force a nose bleed.


And somehow, I was still entranced. 

But scared. 

It wasn’t easy. 

But I tried.


I saw your façade, as you wanted your hobbies for us.

But I didn’t hate you.

I never hated you.


A candle burned when we had unprotected sex.

I couldn’t stop tasting you.

Even if I didn’t know how I smelled, either.


I never felt deviance. 

Only love. 

My CPAP cooled your head.

You snuggled like a little girl.

Even if I was a loser.


I let you keep my book. 

Cause I wanted you to have me, 

Even if I died.


That candle is never extinguished, as the fire remains.



A Straight Answer

I am a complicated person.

I am a lost soul.

I am an artist.

I sometimes can’t say what I think because you’ll yell at me.


I do like quiet time. 

I do like someone who shares our hobbies.

I listen too much.


I like to read manga/watch anime, 

sit at my desk, 

play games, 

look out the window, 

read books, 

capitalize on quiet moments.


I don’t like trash tv.

I don’t like being lied to.

I don’t like looking for shared interests, 

when we don’t share any. 


I must be composed.

I must be calm.

I can’t be yelled at all the time.

I won’t be made inferior by anyone again.


I won’t date a trans man.

Just saying (Js).

Or someone who uses drugs all the time.


I will listen, but I won’t be scolded.

I will give you my heart, in turn for yours.


I will own a firearm in my house.

I don’t care what my family thinks. 

Pussies.


I won’t look at you.

The way your family does.


I will speak no careful dissent.

I will learn how to communicate.

I have been alone for so long.


I forgot what it’s like to date on hard mode.


Lastly,

I see you.

Your sexuality.

Ferocity. 

Anger.

Devotion.

I C U.



Post Office Blues

Deliver the Mail.

Live in a jail.

Confide with no bail.

Your life has lost its way.


Now you pay. 

For a closed casket.

He was a basket.

Your co-workers call you behind your back.


Don’t worry.

Come close.

Eat this bullet, Satan.

Before you run for the exit.


I’ll take you with me.

Treat me like a beast.

Come forward.

Get bent.

Dent your face.

With a heart shaped shovel.


Come here bitch.

Eat this shovel of mail

full of dirt.

Your pitiful communication skills don’t phase me.


Jail is better.

You have no power over me.

You’re dead.

And I’m in a cell.


At least I don’t have to listen to you.

Now I go to sleep, living in heaven.

Waiting for you in hell.


________



Louis Bruno is the author of more than 21 books, including, The Michael Project, The Michael Project: Book 2: The Lost Children of Eve, Thy Kingdom Come, The Disintegrating Bloodline Part 2: Chaos, The Data Chase, The Disintegrating Bloodline part 3: Solvè, The Disintegrating Bloodline (and the original text re-released in 2019), Apocalypse Soldier, The Data Chase, Selection: The First Book of the Life and Death Saga, and Blinking Eyes: The Second Book of the Life and Death Saga, Hierarchy of Dwindling Sheep, The City of Sand, The God of Curiosity, To the Moon and Back, The Villain Lives and The Villain Lives: The Divided Pinpoint, Come Home, Young One, City of Sand: Book 1: The Holy Terror, and The Voices Are Alive, and The City of Sand: Book 2: Jerusalem Ignited. He has a Bachelor of Arts in English from University of Phoenix. His books can be found on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Lulu. He has written for the Intellectual Conservative and Ephemere. His newest books, The City of Sand: Book 3: America the Free, is out now.


He can be found on Gab, Minds, and Substack


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