My tears fall,
The blood drips,
It tastes like iron,
3 bullets sit in front of me,
The razor knife sharps,
Greets itself again,
My tears keep falling.
No one or nothing comes.
But the burning pain soothes beyond what spirituality can comprehend.
I love the burn. And the blood that follows.
I stare at three bullets.
470.7mm.410
Which one will do it?
But the burn of a razor sharp knife wins. I want to hurt. I dont want immediate. I want the burn.
Drunk af. I know what i want. The fierce end. A bloody mess because it tastes like iron. A rust life has left behind.