Bullet
Bullet.
Lead. Sinking in. Deeper now.
Taste of metal. Blood.
Cement. Walls. Prison.
“Here again,” he thought calmly.
Not that surprised really. Prison is hell.
“And Hell is prison,” he though wryly.
No blood. Just gray. White. Metal.
“Empty” he thought blankly.
Zen. There was, is, Zen here. Rebirth maybe.
“Only if I allow it of myself,” he thought resignedly.
Words. Lonnie. Red.
Yes.
“It hurts, it always hurts” he thought despairingly.
Color. Gray. White. Blue.
Blood. Red. Metal.
“My own,” he thought ironically.
Tinny siren. Bullet.
Up. Light. Life.
“I’m here,” he thought, gasping.
END