Acrid scents permeate the air,
One to five is my time,
only one hour for fresh air,
insipid food on a plastic tray.

The sound of suffering reverberates,
  through the prison.

   So much time to think.

   I've ended a life over money,
   I miss my family,
   but I took him from his.

I walk into the gas station,
                             a hood covering my head,
                              I brandish my weapon.

                                     Time slows.
            
                       Sweat dripping down the cashier's neck,
                        tears and snot stream down his face,
                        the smell of ***** fills the room.

                                   My finger slips.

                                        BANG!

          ­                              He drops,
                          Blood, bits of brain, and skull,
                         splattered on assorted cigarettes.

                          The air tastes like copper,
                           sirens scream in the distance,
               red and blue lights dance in the summer night.

Trepidation festers in the pit of my gut,
                              but fear is just a handicap of the mind.

                                        All I need is cash,
                                         not a life.

                                       Crickets sing,

                            The neon open sign buzzes,
                             my heart is in my throat,
                              the parking lot is barren.

                               I want to turn and run,
                               but my feet are heading,
                                for the door.