At least that way my death could be a little more interesting than, “He got back from visiting family all Summer and promptly shot himself in the head.”
All I’ve got to do is make it ’til the end of August, then I’ll be back in CA with my crossbow and I can just hike into the woods and be done.
AN: Another poem here. Thank you for taking the time to read this. The ironic thing about this poem though is that I don’t drink and yet I’m writing about that.Great if someone reviewed, to all those out there who likes to drink, does this poem connect with anyone of you?
Round and round the roulette goes,
will it stop or will it blow?
Slipping into oblivion,
it’s time to drink like the Russians and let go.
It’s time to drink your worth,
and bet your all in this one barrel,
a single shot,
and you might finally get to rot.
Heave ho and we go,
drinking till the sun goes down,
drinking our fill till […]
My Night
I put the cold barrel in my mouth,
To quiet the screams that may come out.
My hands shake when the time nears,
As my eyes cry silent tears.
I can’t help, but think to say,
Will this really be my last day?
I wanted to test fate with a little game…
Russian roulette, now that is a shame.
I sought out a sign to tell me to stay,
To keep on trying until my golden days.
Three out of five loaded, and ready to go
Two left out, now time for the show.
I pulled the trigger, and let out a small yell.
I was sure, right then, I had been sent straight to hell.
As the minutes passed, I opened my eyes,
Life […]
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