Damaged good

It's crazy how I'm in my bed, alone. It wasn't like this before. She was with me, in my arms, last week. I still cry for her name, hoping she'd come back, or respond back. But there'd be no answers. I'm all alone... I have to do this all by myself, living on my own. It's more quieter, I could hear the wind talking to me. I don't know how my wife died. I only found here, laying on the floor, looking sad.... Had a tear going down on the side of her face. If only I could tell her one last time... "I love you". I would do it in a heart beat. But I've missed my chance... It's been a week and hell hasn't stopped. Drowning myself with alcohols and sucking on them cancer sticks is all I've been living with. I tried to kill myself by slitting my wrist, or hanging myself, but that shit don't make it easier. It needs to be done quick and easy. I want to see her, hear her, and feel her.

The only time I could see her would only happen in my dreams but it just ain't good enough. I am a broken man who wishes he could see his love one again. Killing myself isn't easy. Stuck on this hell on earth. Wasting my time, living. Need a way, a way to end it all. One bullet, one damn good bullet through the head would do me good. No pain, no second chances. a straight on suicide where the cops would question themselves, "How did we miss this one?". In order for me to get a gun, I have to leave my house, actually go out for the first time in a week. Get a gun, load it, and just shoot through my brain. The sun really kills when you got a bad hangover. It just makes you feel dead, like a zombie. I smell, people walk by me and they would groan on how bad my body odour is. It's laughable, because that's all they care about when they walk by... retards.

"What kind of gun you want?". The guy asked me like a thousand times but I just starred at the wall behind him. Do people really, actually buy them giant-ass rifles? Somehow, I can see myself blowing my whole face off, but I rather do it simple. a bullet... Just a hole. I picked out a simple 9mm gun and made my way back. As I was halfway home, I seen a strange bearded man. Surprisingly, it almost looked like the older me. He was holding a sign, the writing on it... "Life; You can't get out alive." I just smirked and doubted the sign because I found my way out and I'm holding it.

Getting home and staring at the gun, knowing that I can do this. I was born to do this, god made my future and this is it. I'm finally gonna see my wife again.Finally going to see her smile.

I put the gun onto the side of my head, and breathed, calmly. "I can do this.... I can do this". Just as I was trying to pull the trigger, it was like a resistant. No matter how hard I'd try, it was like my finger became weak. I began to cry and shatters into tears. I'm damaged good. I missed my wife so much, I almost killed myself, just so I could see her. But I know that's not what she would wanted for me. She would expect me to live on and grow old. I dranked alcohol, smoked 20 packs a day and hated myself because I was blaming myself for what happened to my wife. I acted like it was my fault for her death.

It's crazy how I'm in bed alone... maybe I'm not. Even though, I don't physically feel my wife here with me. I can still feel her... and I can hear her words... "I love you". "I love you too, dear. Together forever".