I need a gun.
It is my first waking thought.
But it is very dark here.
I bang my naked knee on something hard.
The armoury is this way. I think?
My palms touch, rub, smooth bare metal.
And then a switch.
Light blinds me more than the darkness before.
I am bleeding.
My skin is raw.
The armoury door is locked.
And the lock is oiled with anothers blood,
and flakes of a different kind of skin.
Inside it's warm.
Machined weapons hold no animosity.
My choice is slick, almost pretty but I need a glove to hold her in check.
In pastures green, I have been led.
I have lain me down by still waters.  
There was no rod and no staff to comfort me.
But I have a gun now.
And a glove to hold her in check.
My raw and naked skin will pass you by.
My blood shall make rainbows in your peaceful waters.