Author's note: Hah. This was supposed to be impacting. But it's just strange. It's about Christian and madness and green fairies - lots of them and revolvers. It was a spur of the moment thing that I wrote. Yes. Count to 3 before reading.
I can't do this anymore
Memories are cruel
They no longer satisfy, or comfort
And this revolver?
Well, it fits nicely in my hand
I can't go on anymore
Her perfume has faded
And all those costumes she wore
Wither with neglect
And this revolver?
Well, it feels cool against my cheek
I can't face the day anymore
Her voice is floating away
Not even a whisper on the wind
An echo in the hall
And this revolver?
Well, its barrel makes a definite clicking sound
I can't possibly be expected to live anymore
My life is now set in pages
Sitting on my desk, almost taunting
I always keep my promises
And this revolver?
Well, its trigger curves exactly around my finger
I can't put this off for much longer
They tell me it doesn't hurt
They being the fairies I find in drink
They say they've seen it many times before
They say there's never a look of pain
And this revolver?
Well, its heaviness is making me sleepy
So I'd better press down on this little trigger
Before I get too tired
And do it all again tomorrow
Soft metal against my skin
Soft bullet in my head
It doesn't hurt, they say
Close your eyes, count to three
That's what they say to do
One…Two…Three…