Held In My Hand
By
Christine
It was apprehended skin-tight
my hand faded into a pasty white
now my hand lay on the gun
I have no one left, no reason to run.

Loaded, with my finger on the trigger
my years could have been so much bigger
the blood rushed to my head
recalling all the heartbreak that was said.

Dying, I believe, is the reward for life
maybe, I deemed, this will end my strife
rising to my temple I held my breath
waking up and parting with my death.