I wrote this a few weeks ago and was conflicted about whether to post it or not. I decided to, so here it is. Enjoy!

there is a gun in your hands.

it doesn't shake as you aim

at enemy soldiers, killing men

just like you, except

you were lucky and they were not.

.

there is a gun in your hands.

it shakes as you drop it back

into its drawer; this city

is too quiet without the war

and danger you're so addicted to.

.

there is a gun in your hands.

it doesn't shake as you shoot

one madman for another, a

fascinating man you've only just met

who reeks of danger and wages war.

.

there is a gun in your hands.

it shakes as you take it from

your madman, worrying

what he might have done to himself

if you hadn't stopped him.

.

there is a gun in your hands.

it doesn't shake as you hand

it to a psychopath, who

fits you with a bomb to burn

the nonexistent heart of your madman.

.

there is a gun in your hands.

it shakes as you watch

your madman overcome by a code

and a woman; you don't like your madman's

nonexistent heart to be toyed with.

.

there is a gun in your hands.

it doesn't shake as you slay

a beast to save your madman from

his deepest, darkest fear:

essentially, it is himself.

.

there is a gun in your hands.

it shakes as you contemplate joining

your madman, barrel in your mouth and

finger on the trigger, a squeeze

pulls you together and rips you apart.

.

there is a gun in his hands.

it doesn't shake as he lies

on the carpet, bleeding

as his madman cries over him,

very existent heart breaking.