Bullet

Bullet by Rhiannon Mitchell

There is a bullet lodged in me
I think my shaking hands held the gun.
It must come out or else,
No chance for healing.
No one around, no aid to call for.
I try in vain to stop the torrent –
Crimson wet, soaking, drowning me,
Waterfalling over the aching wound;
A glint of offending metal
Buried deep between protesting ribs.
No one around. It must come out or else.
Shaking hands must punish and save.
If I have to dig it out with my fingernails –
I will.

<strong>Rhiannon Mitchell</strong>
Rhiannon Mitchell

 Rhiannon Mitchell is an English-born writer living in Ireland with her family. She is currently studying and working in childcare, but writing has always been something she is very passionate about. 

She wrote obsessively growing up, short stories and children’s books, but only began writing poetry a few years ago to process her parent’s divorce and her own mental health journey thereafter. For her, writing is a way of finding beauty and clarity in even the most painful experiences. 

She finds inspiration in the works of Sylvia Plath and Rupi Kaur, in the beautiful Irish countryside and in her travels. Her dream would be to live in Paris, scribbling away at her poetry and her art in a little cafe in Montmartre in the rain. 

You can find more of her work on Instagram at @poetrybyrhiannon  

This site contains affiliate links to products. We may receive a commission for purchases made through these links. For more information, see my disclosures here. 

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