Voluntary Destruction, by Bryan Majano

I sit alone.

The gun sits still on my lap.

A prickly sensation quivers down my spine.

With a straight mug I tell myself I feel fine.

In a heavy drift I lose track of time.

I lose sight of my reality; all I see are the blurred lines.

In awe of the painful memories the tears pour out.

What is this feeling?

I search for answers atop my head on the crackled white ceiling.

In my daze I lose myself in a whirlwind of past beatings, am I dreaming?

I forget this is real life.

I forget I bleed at the tip of a knife.

I forget in my mind my conscious feelings of love and hate for him strife.

I forget to my heart, my mind is like its cheating wife.

His fist spins me in a senseless direction.

Amongst my words of murder

And thoughts of suicide the blows perform the perfect dissection.

It shatters the glass between my subconscious and conscious into its digression.

I am one;

With the bullet in my brain

That came straight from the pain

Of my finger on the trigger of my gun.

-Bryan Majano

Featured in Vol. 3 Iss 4
Featured in Vol. 3 Iss 4
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