Staring Down The Barrel Of A Gun

It's a stupid thing to do,
But he does it when he sees no other way.
He doesn't want it to come to that,
He doesn't think that when he is on death's doormat.
He has his hand on the bell,
He would press it, but he tends to dwell.
Every day, he holds hand with Satan,
When he isn't, he knows he's waiting.
He's had enough,
Now, he's in a rush.
He has to do it before his parents come back,
He writes a note from the paper in his backpack.
"Mum, dad, it's not your fault."
He wrote, holding the freezing cold colt.
"I just couldn't take it anymore."
He wrote just before locking his door.
"There's just too much of the world I fear."
He scribbled down in tears.
"Goodbye, I love you, mum and dad."
He jotted down and went out with a bang.