Love’s a loaded gun with no safety—
I kissed the barrel, dared it to save me.
Midnight prayers in a language we made,
Tongues like switchblades, vows like grenades.
You called it fate, I called it fire,
We danced on the edge of a live wire.
Your touch? A sermon. Your leaving? A theft.
But damn—what a mess of heaven you left.
Now I carry your ghost in my chestplate,
Still sweet-talkin’ fate at a breakneck pace.
Love ain’t soft—nah, love’s a war cry,
And I still bleed truth when I whisper your name at night.
