The gun lay loaded on the table
Its metal held a dull patina
Atmosphere lies heavy, on...
His agonised demeanour
Betrayal fills his angry thoughts
His finger spins the barrel blue
Hatred soaks his bleeding heart
The guns position - 10 to 2
Pointing at a photograph
The weapon aims towards her eyes
Those very eyes that sought another
Held so many lies
Returning to his grand finale
Voices scream from deep inside
"Do it" call the shrieking demons
"DO IT" they all cried
He holds the gun and lifts it slowly
Places it beneath his chin
"Pull it" shout the silent screamers
Taunting from within
Sweat rolls down like oily paint
That follows contours on his face
His fingers strangle, sticky handle
Time tilts him from grace
Eyes slammed shut and hands-a-trembling
Deathly silence hangs on air
Accelerated moments pass
He slumps back in his chair
Heartbeat rate now that of clock
Slows down with time and moving hand
Today was not the day for weeping...
Or the day he'd planned
Ian Duquemin