Every shots a shot
you either miss your head
hit the target
or the coin is tails
opposite of your call
click of the trigger
the bullet with the impact
of a cannon
splattering thoughts and memories
painting the wall
with the colors of emotions
dripping down the red madness
blanking out the iris
Flashing television screen
game over
If you never take that shot
You'll be sitting there
looking like slaughter house cattle
waiting in line
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem