“Fuck it!” she thought, and shot herself. Instead
of going off, and to her great surprise,
the gun fixed her with beady little eyes,
and in a deep and measured tone it said:
“You really think that you’d be better dead?
For be advised that nothing truly dies–
the problems of this life, the loves and lies,
cannot be fixed with little drops of lead.”
Her gaze grew grey, her hands began to shake,
the room span round, she felt her knees go weak.
She fled to bed to calm her wild heartbeats–
for some days suicide’s too much to take.
And when your favourite firearm starts to speak,
it’s best if you retreat between the sheets.
RJT
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