My metaphorical gun has run out of bullets, and not one of them has found its way into my head.

I put a gun to Gods head. He smiled, and held out his hand, revealing six spent gun casings. I pull the trigger anyway, and as time goes backwards I return to the ****** void from which I emerged. Too young for a gun license; I'll have to try again next time around.

In the meantime, God plays games with me, and I am powerless to intervene, powerless to put a stop to this simulated insanity. God only gives guns to men.