PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

My twitching finger

On the trigger

Waiting to die

I begin to cry

The chamber turns

The feeling inside burns

I long for love

All I get is the shove

So now I have this gun

With it I will end all fun

The hammer slams down

All I can do is frown

The chamber was bare

It has nothing to share

My life must end

For me to mend

The wrongs I have done

I am no ones son

One more pull

Not so dull

Blood is spilt

Up to the Hilt

Laying on the floor

In a pile of gore