I hold the gun to my head
i breathe deep
and try to think rationally
i think of all the hard times
it makes me grip the gun tighter
about to squeeze the trigger
then i think of the good times
and loosen my grip
i start sobbing
and put the gun back in the drore
and save it for a rainy day
but there's still a bullet with my name on it
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Forget the spellng mistakes, just shut the draw and throw away the key! Metaphorically we hold the gun to our heads every fooking day my friend, we just love the thrill....smiling at you, wishing you a tranquil christmas chill, Tai