This morning I dressed with violence and
lit a cigarette, waiting for morning
coffee. I glare, a literal stare
to brew the coffee by sheer force of will.
Hot black hell brew to match my hot black mood.
Looking at the calendar and counting
the remaining days of bad decisions,
I rip off two months; toss the wasted time
into the trash. Pull out the gun and spin
the wheel. Wonder what the weather's going
to be as the barrel touches temple.
Walk outside, don't ask the weathermen, look
up at the sky and pull the trigger.
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