Just a poem I wrote since I was bored...
One Shot
One shot. Two shots. Three shots. Four. Five shots. Six shots. Seven shots...
By now, it's much too late. Yet there's still that ache.
The blood's on your hands now, there's no going back.
The godforsaken memories on your mind, you just want to leave them all behind.
They scream out at you like the lyrics of a dead song.
The crimson-tainted bodies on the ground begin to decay.
With only a bloody pistol and one last bullet, you decide it's your turn now to fade away.
Eighth shot.
The memories fade...as does your existence...
~*~*~*~
It seems like I write a lot of angst, stories with guns, and killings lately...
Maybe my mind is telling me that I need to visit a psychiatrist...
Anyway. This probably doesn't seem to make since, but it did to me.,
One shot. Two shots. Three shots. Four. Five shots. Six shots. Seven shots...
By now, it's much too late. Yet there's still that ache.
The blood's on your hands now, there's no going back.
The godforsaken memories on your mind, you just want to leave them all behind.
They scream out at you like the lyrics of a dead song.
The crimson-tainted bodies on the ground begin to decay.
With only a bloody pistol and one last bullet, you decide it's your turn now to fade away.
Eighth shot.
The memories fade...as does your existence...
~*~*~*~
It seems like I write a lot of angst, stories with guns, and killings lately...
Maybe my mind is telling me that I need to visit a psychiatrist...
Anyway. This probably doesn't seem to make since, but it did to me.,