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.
