Wakes up, same old bed, another day
Hmmm- What can he do today- get paid?
Negative- no job, no cash, no love
Squeeze! Like his hand is being shoved into a glove
Ouch! Hurting head, hurting heart- beaten
So painful, eating away at his soul
So he grabs a lighter, he packs a bowl
Puff, puff, smoke....
High isn't the same now, never will be again
It's cold- now warm- cold again
There is no fresh air to breathe- choke!
Sick ways, sick days, it's all... sick
Pain- no real pleasure- like razors in his mind, digging
The clock is ticking, its a race against time
Looking at pictures, what does he see?
A crumbling family, lost friends, hated lovers
He feels abandoned- values have all gone to hell
Tears- running freely- down his pale face
Should he? Should he not? Feelings begin to race
Fuck it! Thats what he tells himself
End the memories, time for them to be shelved
Time to leave this place, he no longer wants to dwell
No more of this life, he is done- reach for the gun
Cold! So cold! Fingers begin to itch...
Tears- they pour- he sighs, life's such a bitch
He wanted understanding- to him that is truly rich
Looks to the mirror, at the shell of a former man
Why was he ever born? Damn, damn, damnnnn...
Who will find him lying here soaked in red- dead?
Final thoughts- the barrel of the gun to his head...
A gunshot, an explosion! a thunderous boom!
Snap! He's awake- sweating- lying in his bed
The ceiling above- he never even left the room
Monday, July 16, 2007
Gun To His Head
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