The Gun

Picturing it all in my head/

It all makes sense/

It all works out perfectly/

My suicidal tendencies are making presence/

As I lift the gun to my temple and shoot it all out/

Nothing to feel and nothing to gain/

I’m sorry it had to end this way/

So much pain and so much lost in the fabrication of life/

It can’t go on/ I can’t live this way/

I can’t live at all/ No breathing is so pleasing/

So imagine it now/ The cold flesh of the gun against the metal of my head/

The blinding bang and some blood on the wall/

I just ended it all/ My suicidal tendencies are no more/