Branding Fire

And then there was bland.
She gave me a foot-hold
Smiling up with a boot-print
Stamped like a brand on her face.

"Thank You,"  I screamed, politely
as repeatedly I stamped;
an irrational wish to extinguish her face.

She smiled, I think, her lip hanging off.
I cried, head in hands, as the gun went off.

The gun is clean. The wallpaper is not.