Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Aug 2014
I stood on the seaweed green carpet in my room
I can't sit on my bed
I figured I should go out of this world standing tall as opposed to the
Cowardice I'd been living so far
It wasn't that difficult to get my hands on a gun
My father had an antique revolver in the back of his closet
Behind his box full of well-aged whiskey
And a small package of bullets
I loaded the silver bullet of hope
My ticket out of suffering
And heard it click into place
Now came the second part, and perhaps the most difficult, of the deal
This gun provides the lethal power and capability to blow my brains out and I
Muster up the man power to simply pull the trigger
A shaky hand lifted the refulgent gun to my temple
One shot and I would be gone
A sense of relief crept up and overwhelmed the acid waves in my stomach seizing its chance
My mom was out at the grocery store and would make a stop to do some back-to-school shopping for me
I didn't have the heart to tell her she would just be wasting her money
And my dad was at work, the bags in his eyes from working long nights would droop more and the crevices around his eyes would multiply when he found out about his son
My siblings were at their cousin's house and I'm sure the neighbors wouldn't care of the ear splitting noise
As my finger pulled down an immense pain grew in my head
The dull blue walls began to spin
I found myself on the carpet and a river of crimson flowed down my arm and soiled the brilliance of the revolver.
Gray and black dots speckled my vision and the blurry picture went completely out in my left eye
Slight vibrations of footsteps thumping up the stairs pulsed through the carpet
There was banging on the door
And eventually someone breaking the door through
I just wanted to be left alone to die, didn't they ever see it?
Manic sobs of a women and,"My baby, not my baby!" rang throughout the room
My lips parted as I attempted to say,"It's ok, I'll be ok, I can finally be happy" but nothing came out
Only blood
Shaking fingers stroked my hair desperately and I saw a piece of my head come off in my mother's hand
She cradled my head in her lap already presuming me dead and sobbed silently into my chest
Smearing blood onto her delicate face
The pool of crimson turned into an ocean
And I dived right into death
Candie
Written by
Candie
470
     ---, MysteryBear and Joseph Schneider
Please log in to view and add comments on poems