If you load a silver pistol With five rounds,

I ask that you shoot me once in the stomach,

 and free the butterflies from its walls,

The ones that would flutter and spin,

from a simple sense of you being near. 

Would you aim the second at the patched heart sewn to my left arm? 

Displayed for everyone to see,

the heart on my sleeve. 

Would you aim the third and fourth to hit the widened pupils of my eyes? 

Even though you hold a gun to my face I've still stayed mesmerized,

lost in the sight of your hatred-filled face, 

I adore you. 

For your fifth bullet, 

Kiss the tip so that the last thing my beating heart feels,

Piercing my skin,

the love I've cherished and desired, 

your embedded kiss in my once-beating heart, 

I miss you.