The Gun
by my Hand
I stare at his body, the wound still
bleeds, the gun by my hand, I feel nauseous.
Yes I
hated him, he ruined my life, but... was it that bad,
was there no alternative. I don't know.
I hear the angels
come now, I glance down at my limp body and ask,
'is suicide so wrong?'
56 words
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