My Poems/Ramblings

If I Had Pulled the Trigger

I feel the gun in my hand. I've always loved how cold it felt.

In just one moment, I would be gone...just a single second and

all of my pain would disappear. I would be free. How I've longed 

for this moment. How great it's going to feel. The liberation.

The freedom. The feeling of leaving my body behind. The look 

on my families faces. The disappointment. The despair. The loss

of all hope. The regret. The deaths to follow. It is then that I realize

that I can not take my life from those who feel they need it. I can't

be the one to take myself away from them. So, I let the gun fall from

my hand. I struggle to get to my feet. As I turn to look at my ticket

to freedom one last time, before I say goodbye, I notice something

extremely peculiar. Somehow, I am still sitting on the floor. My body is 

still there, yet here I stand staring down at the shell that once

held me so close. The blood is splattered on the walls, along with

brain tissues and scattered fragments of my skull. This isn't what I

meant to happen. I didn't remember pulling the trigger, yet here

I stand staring down at me, while my family comes running in and 

bursting to tears at the sight. My parents pull my siblings back to 

shield their corneas from taking in the sight of my limp frame. In their

futile attempts, my siblings still catch glimpses of me. I'm looking at

them tears fill my eyes, as I know that they will never be the same again, 

after this moment. My grandfather finally catches sight of me, and

he falls. He falls to his knees screaming and crying. Uncontrollable.

    It wasn't supposed to be like this....but then again, it never is.