the finality, the promise of nothing more
the hopelessness, the want of relief
the bottle, half empty
the gun, half full
spinning round and round
round and round
heavy and cold, pressure on my temple
sweating but unafraid, finger resting firmly
on my fate
it's too late now
it's too late
1 comment:
Actually, this one came too close to the truth at one time. I couldn't answer, before.
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