My Final Trigger 

My chest is aching.

My mind is racing.

The tears are pouring.

It feels like it will never stop. I want to cry for help,

but the words do not make its way out of my mouth.

It’s killing me slowly.

The kind of death that claws at you from inside out,

Until everything that is me, has been destroyed,

And all thats left is the feeling of your weight pushing down on me, restraining me.

But it ended…

_________________________

I went home.

I scrubbed and scrubbed until my body turned a light shade of red.

But I still felt you on me.

I wiped the foggy mirror,

I looked at my body.

I glanced at my wrists,

At the scars I’ve inflicted myself with.

It’s nothing compared to what you did to me.

I looked myself in the mirror, eye to eye…

At that moment.

I lost myself.

The Shooter is Me

Life is punitive and cruel.

Life is also grandiose and beautiful.

I can’t help but be enraged with how my mind is strained and pulled at from both sides, by optimism and pessimism.

Do I love life or do I hate it?

Do I want to live or do I want to die?

I cannot decide.

Fear of making the wrong decision has me held at gun point – only the shooter is myself.

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