There's been a loaded shotgun on the kitchen table all day
And I don't think my nerves are calm
Sure it won't go off
There's six rounds in the gun but none in the chamber
So unless you physically load one up
It won't go off
But I can feel the cannon watching me
The barrel looking for an excuse to fire the killing shot
I can almost feel my flesh fall from my bones
As my chest cavity falls away
As a whole is blown through my stomach
As my spine is made into bloody kindling
I try not to look at its gaze
Every little sound makes me jump and turn to see if the gun has blown its lid
The melting ice settling in my glass of iced tea made from drink crystals
The family's dog yawning on the living room floor
The fabric of my shirt rustling too close to my ears
My brain says it's only dangerous if you activate it
You've seen it done before even though you've never done it yourself
But it don't look that hard
Pump the bullet in the chamber
Sit on the couch with your head resting down
Two hands to push the trigger down
It's just like a staple gun
You won't even hear it go off
And it'll all be over
YOU ARE READING
Poetry Book 5
PoetryThis is the fifth installment in the random poetry compilation. There is no rhyme or reason to the poetry; it all exists together. If you've been here a while, you'll know that after 100 poems, there will be another book. I normally rant about my co...
