Stand between pistol and bullseye
Immobile flesh too scared to move
Pain grows, starts to intensify
Why remain? What is there to prove?
On my feet I stand, unnerving
Awaiting fate’s most cruel hand,
Mind is racing, thoughts are swerving
The plans unfolding must be grand.
For long they take, slow-motion death
Ache of demise develops fast
I cringe, I fall, take my last breath
Doom falls, and life is gone at last.
|