Mars Jones (he/they) // Contributor
I’m sick of reading writing thats written better by better men then mine. Than me.
I’m sick of only knowing the difference between then and than after the moments passed and
the mistake has been made.
I’m sick of creating a caller on the other end who does not wish to call.
There is a chamber of a gun pressed to my head
and I am holding the trigger and praying for something other than blanks.
I am praying the spark of gunpowder will spark something in me–
hold on guys I’ve figured it out and everything has meaning and a name to go with it and
any minute the phone will start ringing.
The bullet will kill me on impact.
Category: Literature