95% ocean 5% land
How is it something so unlikely found its way to my hand
Fingertips aged by waiting
Mind in a trance
The gun that aimed to **** landed in my hands
To aim, to shoot, to ****, to cry
The trigger trembles desperately
The question lies waiting,
To **** or to die
To hand it in and be considered a fraud,
To another pair of hands who would just stand and take aim,
Or place it back in the water to find another pair of waiting fingertips,
The blood was spilt but not on my hands,
95% ocean 5% land
