Shotgun

From today to tomorrow 
this moment to next
everything numb
for nothing changes 
not I
not the world 

even the little things 
so dreary so futile 
because the voices whisper
the inevitability 
tortured history 
need a fist 
a bullet 
a something 

but I am just a fart from God's indigestion
inconsequential with no desire 
to right any wrongs 
leader I am not 
or follower 
not even a rebel 
anarchist without a cause

back to the fracas
I go again eyes-wide-open 
choosing ink and paper 
not to write a book or poetry 
but every word the bullet in a loaded gun
just once
make you take a shotgun to your head
my head  

shotgun to the head 
scattered brains 
numb no more 
maybe. 

© Lost