I've been stumbling

through this dark forest

every night now,

the cool metal of the gun

pressed upon my fingers.

And every night

I raise the barrel

to my skull

with a shaking hand.

But every night

I wait another day.

What's the point?

My world crumbles around me,

and as I stand

among the rubble,

I think to myself,

Wouldn't it be

better if I just…

disappeared?