I slide a round into the chamber
Spin the chamber round and round
In a game of twisted fun
Cold steel feels smooth against my temple
The revolver clicks as I pull the hammer
Cocked and ready to fire
Slowly I pull the trigger
Sweat gleams on my furrowed brow
Blam the gun fires
Butterflies flutter from my skull
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem