he breaths through corrupted lungs
every thought in his mind a constant war with one ultimate goal
complete eradication of all sense of joy.

the heat of the smoke down his throat is the sage burning away the darkening thoughts, creating a rapture in his fragile mind

but when the haze clears, and he wakes again
his head an open battlefield, war ravaged thoughts with no survivors


one last look towards the future which is nothing but a bleak existence he has no desire to be a part of

with 5 in the chamber to his head, his constant struggle looking to end with this reverse game of Russian roulette

pulling the trigger

click.

with a sigh he breaths out, wondering where it all went wrong, and squeezes again.