Inside the stare of a barrel.
The bullet black is engraved with my name.
The gun wants to play.
The name of the deadliest game.
Starts with the frame.
Happy little trigger.
My brain has less to say.
At the edge of a cliff.
The top is measured by the bottom.
Free to fall.
The force will not stall my curse.
I am staked through my heart.
Hate beats the flames.
By the fire of Never Enough.
Terminal scrambled by my brain.
Measured by my pain into velocity.
First you were seated.
Understand do you.
Only if you stand ontop of a chair.
Rope around my neck.
What the hex.
RIP, to my spine.
Tonight
I will be travelling through time.
No lift to the stairs.
The one to heaven.
I missed all the signs.
By not believing in Mr Seven.
I chose the ice.
I picked the six.
Alone.
My veins needs the evil.
My blood ills for a fix.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem