I killed a man.
Killed him, like a boy
trampling the ground he runs.
How I killed him.
You should have seen
my gun pointed towards him
beneath the breastbone.
He said my touch was winter.
I’ve experienced coldness before.
The last I looked into his eyes,
he looked back through the glass in mine.
His stare, a numbness.
His fading gray eyes.
I shot him without hesitation
and ripped into his chest stealing
his ragged, broke heart. His corpse?
I left that to be. The last I remember
it was rotting and dead.