• blood drips from my minds eye out into the vast expanse of grayish blue grass that makes up the universe inside my carpet,
    i see the passionate deep red rain, crashing down in the little rocky worlds, these eyes can see, these ears can hear,
    i have a migraine, i cant quite put my finger on it, but it feels as though the tiny bomb shell sitting on my floor, is the only thing untouched by this, still, mess,y painting,
    i feel so cold, i feel the blood cease pumping, the nerve endings stop firing, and finally i listen to the creeping of the bugs in my carpet.

    to day i woke up, i put on my best shirt and walked to the gas station on 31st and Washington, i bought my self a pack of cigarettes. i walked down the road to the dinner by the highway, i ordered the special,which consisted of, two eggs, bacon, ham, and a pan of biscuits and gravy. i must have been talking to my waitress, Cara for three hours, she told me her and some friends were going to the movies this Saturday she invited me along. i said yes, i exited the diner and opened my bag i retrieved my lighter and puled my cigarettes out of my pocket i delicately pulled off the plastic wrapping. i gathered up the three middle cigarettes in the center of the pack, and i flipped them upside down. i pulled the far left back one out and put it to my lips lighting it. i began to walk home after disposing of the plastic wrapper. when i walked in the door of my house i was greeted by the sight of my .45 caliber handgun on the counter, i picked it up.
    i put in in between my eyes. and i listened, to the empty house talk to me. my thumb rested gently on the trigger, and just like taking a breath, it was over. i left a note in the chair by the window, apologizing for the mess and the smell.