Hey people!

This is just a random poem I wrote. Hope you enjoy it!

The Irresolute Hitman

There is a first time for everything,
Why would this be any different?
So what if he wears a wedding ring?
You can't let that be a deterrent.

Focus. He is the one who should feel fear.
You've been paid a fee, you've made a deal.
He's already chained up and the sirens are near,
Just pull the trigger, pretend it isn't real.

Except you can't. Your conscience just won't let you.
And your mind is racing now, swirling in your head.
It's raining, it's dark, the basement is painted blue,
All this is irrelevant, why isn't the man dead?

You've accepted a contract. You can't back out now.
These aren't people who will let you fail.
You turn your back to the man, allow yourself a frown.
For if he lives, you will die and if he dies, you face jail.

An impossible situation - there is no way out.
How did you get here? You didn't want this kind of life.
Turn around. Face him. Just try to block it out.
Ignore the screams about his kids and his wife.

He's begging. Urine stained trousers. Terrified.
You can't take it anymore! Why wont he just shut his mouth?
You hit him with the gun, knocked out but still alive.
Clasping at your forehead, you begin to pace about.

Panic has hit you; you have no control anymore.
Heart is beating so fast you feel about to burst.
Can't breathe. Can't think. Just glued to the floor.
Trapped in your own skin, never felt worse!

Stop!

You need to control this.
Just take a few,
Deep,
Rasping,
Breaths.

He's stirring, waking from his slumber.
It's now or never, keep calm and control yourself.
Just shoot him. Do it. Do it and get it over.
You aim the gun, steady it. Put a foot on his chest.

His eyes flicker, he moans in pain.
You know that if you don't do it someone else will.
There's a price on his head, you don't even know his name,
Let alone why he deserves to be killed.

Your phone vibrates. Distracted. A text recieved,
"Send a photograph when it's done."
You breathe out slow, the Boss can't be decieved,
So you acquiesce and take the safety off your gun.

Dirty money burns a hole in your pocket,
You tell yourself that this is for the best.
And your finger twitches, releasing a bullet,
"I'm sorry!" You shout, as it explodes into his head.

You are shaken and shocked to the very core,
And for a while you don't know what to do.
Then you clean up the scene, head to the door,
Before the police come looking for you.

From that moment, your soul is stained black,
and you know that your career has begun.
You somehow feel calm, like there is no turning back.
You're now a killer. You are now a hired gun.