Like a game of Russian Roulette,

I sit here and I sweat.

My palms are cold and wet.

I am waiting for the gun

To make its way to me.

The barrel glistens

As if to my thoughts it listens.

I am waiting for the bullet’s collision.

My heart pounds in my throat.

My heart pounds in my head.

My heart beats in its place.

What if you found me dead?

Finally the gun has made its way

All the way to me.

Across from you at this table,

I do not break my gaze.

I take a shot of whiskey.

I swallow all the rum.

I put the barrel to my head.

Won’t you join the fun?

You know, my dear,

I am well aware of my mortality.

It hangs on by a thread.

How would you like to know

That said thread

Is made up of

All the words you’ve said?

The gun shines like your eyes.

You taunt me with your smile.

“C’mon, just pull the trigger.

You’ve been stalling quite a while.”

Your smile reassures me

So I put some pressure on

The tiny little trigger,

With the help of some liquor.

Nothing happens.

It is what it is.

It does not really matter.

Because I know what love is.