Poem -

Game Over

Warning Explicit

Game Over

It's a cylinder made of metal,
the cold barrel against my warm chin, how comforting it feels as it rolls left to right slowly, my hands controlling the direction, until finally I feel relaxed enough to release myself from the pain, BANGĀ 
trigger meets handle, spark ignited, bullet United with my skin, GONE, the entire past, present and future erased, once and for all, DEADĀ 

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Released

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