Handgun Boy Poem by Alexander Foald

Sometimes it’s just about time not moving backward
Sometimes it’s just everything seems so far than right
Argues and reasons become your very first strength to fight
And the minds we found in ourselves, wolves in a cage

You wake up in a lonesome hotel bed
Trying to figure out what’s been seducing you last night
Clothes scattered, blood splattered and a man with a hole in his chest
Frightened by what you might have committed, you’re trying to escape

Into the dark, darker than the black eyes of the dead man
Running feet trying to find a way to somewhere far and distant
Wondering whether this is only a dream that resonates with your brain
Or something has woke you up into reality in your still-held handgun

Sometimes it’s just about time not moving backward
Sometimes it’s just about everything seems unclear and blurred
Whatever questions and answers provided before your breakfast
How many games you think you can play before you die?