Treasure Island

Morgan Siegel

(27/06/1996 / New Zealand)

The End Of The Barrel


...Cold and hard, but dangerous none the less...

I sit alone holding my depart in my hands.
My bed no longer provides comfort.
Only pain; soft, it may be...

...Black and cold... like holding my own heart...

I slowly move it around in my hands.
I stop with it pointing up at me.
Black as the void, twice as lethal...

...Three are needed; each instrumental...

I get up staggering to the table, I slump down.
I place it onto the table, it speaks with a *Kathunk*
I just stare at it... contemplating when...

...I feel Death's stare, cold and dreaded...

I begin to cry, whilst anger surges through.
I quickly seize it, I hold it to my head.
Quivering with rage, I struggle... why is it so hard?
I close my eyes and tears start away...

...He is coming, I can feel him...

I take a breath, and begin... it is soon.
I squeeze the trigger...

...'Hello, you are ready I see'...

'F-Father please help me... I-I cannot do this anymore.'

Submitted: Wednesday, September 25, 2013
Edited: Wednesday, September 25, 2013

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

Part 3, of the Self-Destruction series.

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