The light was to bright
So he would hid from the sun
in his dark place
he held the gun up to his head
Closed his eyes...
Took a deep breath, and griped the gun
Waiting for death, placing his fingers
The gun well loaded
raising the gun up to his head
he ran from life choosing death instead
pulled the trigger,and fired the the shot
dropped the gun, the barrel still hot
and that spilt second, before he died
i swar i swar, my angel cry...
coment on how it was its my poem but yeah(:
