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,

My thoughts,

My self,

My world,

Blam! Blam! Blam!

 

Nothing happens,

As quickly,

Ashamed,

I hide it away, once again.