At the end of the barrel of a gun
the soldier is so concentrated on his target
he is too blind to see
that he shoots his own reflection.
When I stretched my arms like telephone wires to your truth
I ended up calling myself.
Some stories have to start at the end
To get to the beginning
But if the story ends how it began
Then does the story really begin at the end –
Or end at the open?
You see, the way we ended
Was as predictable
As the first night my lips found yours
Our first kiss was a promise
Neither of us was in a position to make
And our last kiss
Held a hope
Nether of us was ready to embrace
But unlike your version of the story;
My end involves a new beginning
Than a story worth telling