In the shadows of the silhouette
He raised his quivering hand
There is one in the chamber
Yes that one, the one made from lead
If he pulls it now, there will be no future
If he backs away, there will still be torture
The shadow on the wall shows a hand on the trigger
The barrel is cold and very bitter
It is like Russian roulette only bigger
Except this is no game, this one is forever
His mind plays out an imperfect world
Loves lost, fortunes squandered and the death of a girl
By his own hand, no prison has he been to
He escaped the blue ones
It seems as though every wall he has walked through
Now he sits in his darkened room
Clicking the hammer back, ready for the sudden boom
He hears the still small voice call to him and he shudders
This little girl he brought into the world
The one who calls him father
He embraces her with one hand as the other puts down the deceiver
Her touch so warm, more so than the chill of the revolver
By Jason A. Jones December 31, 2011 at 12:34 AM
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