Two Cold Souls Sit.
One Loads A Gun.
Victim: “Is it time?”
Shooter: “Not quite.”
Victim: “Okay.”
Victim.
Shooter.
Shooter: “It’s time.”
The Shooter Sticks The Gun To His Own Temple And Pulls The Trigger.
The Victim Follows.
|
Our sites: Stories, Critical Poetry, Old Poetry, Quotes, Philosophy, Journals, Role-playing. © Social Design Poem History:
| |