Endless Sunsets

The Gun

Staring at the steel of a great masterpiece,

That can break pieces of reality,

With just the simply whisper of an ignition,

Between valleys that need no recognition.

Deep bruises grow from the incision

That we inflict on ourselves.

We're putting away hope like books on shelves.

Coughing demons into our world,

And making them king,

Just from the tool that we sling.

Whenever we're under the nest where the bee's sting

We cock back our problems.

The soul of the hand doesn't know what to do,

It just wishes for the sun to turn blue,

And freeze the islands that are covered in roaches;

Infestation,

No, devastation from above.

And beyond where the moon has a baby.

Shadows dancing for the broken.

Silhouettes crying a choir

For the church of the bad omens

That leaks on carpet every night.

Blood that taste like wine,

To the children whom call themselves "free"

From the black mamba that bites and swallows everyday.

Slithering for its next meal;

Another buffet,

Another body shall lay.

When the trigger is pulled,

That tiny red button that telling us to escape from the danger that awaits.

But yet instill we concentrate harder than we've ever done so before.

Where the trees sang a different hymn with the wind everyday,

And the sun was more forgiving,

But now the heat that we shall feel from this gun,

Is the summer time hornet

That will inject a poison in our veins.

That we will see soon anyways.

But the timing could've never felt any better.

All thanks to the grim reaper;

The peacekeeper of the household,

The final say so in a war between men with toys.

The Gun plucks the feathers of a soul.