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gentry
Poems
Dec 2017
Death
As you rest the barrel on your skull you slowly begin to pull.
The icy sting of metal on your skin as you begin to think about all your sins.
Images run a cross your mind as you count down from 9.
You hear your family down stairs as you get to six.
Once you hit three you break down falling to your knees.
You say one as hot tears pour down your cheeks.
...suddenly it's the end.
Written by
gentry
15/M/utah
(15/M/utah)
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