deepundergroundpoetry.com
Smells Like Decaying Spirit
The room is silent
Yet it is void of peace
It's an anxious hush
A gun is pressed tightly
Against my temple
I can hear the trigger
Creak slowly toward oblivion
I can't tell if I'm holding the gun
Or if it is in the hand of my enemy
Or if in fact, I am my enemy
And both of these are true
The bullet is antsy
The great anticipation
To carry out such an adventure
Into the brain matter and skull
My head will turn inside out
Homicide? Suicide?
Someone will have to decide
I'll look just like Kurt Cobain
On a rainy April morning...
Yet it is void of peace
It's an anxious hush
A gun is pressed tightly
Against my temple
I can hear the trigger
Creak slowly toward oblivion
I can't tell if I'm holding the gun
Or if it is in the hand of my enemy
Or if in fact, I am my enemy
And both of these are true
The bullet is antsy
The great anticipation
To carry out such an adventure
Into the brain matter and skull
My head will turn inside out
Homicide? Suicide?
Someone will have to decide
I'll look just like Kurt Cobain
On a rainy April morning...
Published 26th Nov 2019
| Edited 27th Nov 2019
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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27th Nov 2019 6:54am
27th Nov 2019 6:55am
27th Nov 2019 6:57am
