{He} is holding a gun.

His body is shadowed by his soul.
But his black smile could brighten up the darkest pits of hell.
He laughs at the cruelty in his own heart.
He cries for me.

He {is holding} a gun.

It is pointed at my forehead.
I try to run, but his legs grab me.
I try to push him away, but his arms steady mine.
I try to scream, but his dark grin envelopes my face.

He is holding {a gun.}

It is a revolver, Colt M1878.
The chamber is loaded.
The hammer is cocked.
The trigger is pulled.

{He is holding a gun.}

It fires, and my feet leave the earth.
I am falling.
The light fixture above, soothing as the wind, calls my name.
I reach for it, but fail to grasp.

For I, am holding, a gun.