The Night of the Gun

I really have had the chance to kill myself. When he handed me the gun, he said “take this, incase anything happen to you”. Little did he know, i wanted to be the one to cause my demise. One single bullet. Loaded. Pressed against my temple once, in my mouth the other. He had no clue… He was drunk and hype that he beat up moms ex. Wanted me to like him too. As soon as he left; i was at head with god. A single bullet between us. I was too chicken shit though. I was too scared of the afterlife. The possibility of burning eternally or being torn apart by demons.

6 months from then, ahead to now. Im burning internally. Being towrn apart by my demons every day. Their voices whisper about the night that I held the gun. The night I should of became one of them. They tell me its free there.. That I have nothing to worry about; except the aftermath of hurting others. “They’ll get over it” they whisper. That I’m doing more damage being alive and causing them problems every day, anyways.

I know I should of taken my life that night. That it would have been perfect timing, because so much was hectic at the time anyways. That at least then, it’d be justified and people would understand and forgave me. That they would be moved on by now and maybe even forgotten about me. There would have been chane too. Situations would have been better. I could have been an example… I could of been finnished with my pity filled life too. I was always the wink link. Not good for shit.  Everyone had to keep an eye on and take responsibility for all my fuck ups.

All of that would have been over. I wouldnt be sad and angry like i am every hour of the day. No one would have to would have to worry about me. Things would change.

I swear as soon as I get my hands on a gun, again, I will end it all for good. I will be nothing more but a faded memory.