Blam! Blam! Blam!

I have a gun in my mind,
It’s a pistol actually –
Though sometimes a machine gun –
Its cold metal weight,
Feels comfortable in my hand,
An extension,
Part of me.

 

Blam! Blam! Blam!
Its easy recoil,
Smooth violence,
I enjoy in my arm,
In my body,
In my groin.
I point it at my problems,
I point it at my thoughts,
I point it at myself,
I point it at my world,
Blam! Blam! Blam!

 

Nothing happens,
And quickly,
Ashamed,
I hide it once again.
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