The Game

The gun,
It’s firmly planted against your head.
All hope is drained from your eyes.
The drugs are at their peak.
You can hear their screams,
Their cries and pleas.

You’re playing Russian Roulette,
With a bloodstained hand.
The needles are scattered around the room.
You’ve lost count.
The alcohol bottles,
Some half empty,
Some not.
The gun’s begging to be shot.
You’re not sure if you want to die.
You spin the barrel,
Hoping it lands loaded.
Your eyes glammed up,
Your hair in tease.
You’re ready to bleed.

Die with a needle in your arm.
Alcohol in the system,
And a bullet in the gun.
Unfired.
The gun’s been tempting you.
Teasing your weeping heart.
Teasing the insanity,
Brewing inside your mind.
Are you ready to die?
Snuff your life?

The game is rotting away,
The blood on your hand is washed away.
You cheated the game.
You shot again,
You had a chance.
But the gun tempted you so much,
You’ve los the game,
You’ve lost the game of chance.
You’ve lost the game of Russian Roulette.

-Fallon Laymon
4-11-2009