Feeble attempts to see past the brink
Past the bullets
Past the gun in my hand
And the sad strains of music meant to break reality
The feel of the muzzle to the left of breastbone
Cold and welcome
Finger waits outside the guard
A small step from freedom
Tethers frayed and only one more choice to make
The slow beat of a heart long splintered
No fear, only regret of the journey not taken.