A Gun

Sitting on the floor,
Our hands interlocked, pulling,
My eyes watering,

The anger in his eyes,
The suffering, the madness,
The gun between us.

My hand on his head,
"You don't think I'll shoot your hand?
"Don't make me suffer!"

"Watch me overdose."
Slowly, he fingers the gun.
"I'll just fall asleep."

Pills in the toilet.
"I threw up after you left.
I was confused... scared."

He wanted to die.
But he doesn't remember.
"No, I'm not lying."

This poem is about: 
Me
My family
My community
My country
Our world

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