Dear life,

The .9mm Beretta seemed to fit in my hand

As if it were a natural phenomena

And not something created by man

It was a bit heavy in all regards

While taking aim

I raised the gun and shot it

Until every bullet had been fired

Into the human shaped target

When I was finished

I looked down at my hands

The same hands that played a fragile violin

Held a baby

And planted plants

Could also destroy any one of those in an instant

Staining innocent hands red

 Regretfully,  Kara Busse