bitter
cold
the barrel touches your
weary hands

in your possession
right in front
of your hollow eyes
is the inflictor of
death

your fingers
wrap around the
gleaming smooth
metal

it fits perfectly
in your hands
one might say
too perfectly

to your own awe and dread
the corners
of your very mouth
creep up
into the most
ghastly grimace

in your custody
right in front
of your drained eyes
is the inflictor of
death

you pull back
a faint
*click*
presents itself

you raise
your slender frail arms
your aged eyes
meet the sights
and
you feel yourself
regulate with the muzzle

in your ownership
right in front
of your empty eyes
is the inflictor of
death

opposite to you
you feel
panic
fear of
death

you clench
the glossy icy
trigger

one motion
so instantaneous
so brisk
you don’t even know
what you have
done

you look
down
at your
blood soddened hands
and you can’t help but to ponder
why?

why?
you think
why do we inflict
this upon
ourselves

why?
you think
why do we
put this burden
upon our people
and ourselves

in your possession
right in front
of your hollow eyes
is the inflictor of
death

you.