A Gun With A Hair Trigger
When I was young and full of vigor
I was like a gun with a hair trigger.
I was ready to fight the whole world,
the split second an insult was hurled.
With one hand tied behind my back,
I was sure I could fiend off any attack.
Guns, blades, pipes, chains, brass knuckles,
I made sure I was the last one who chuckles.
I'd walk the streets looking for a brawl.
Because nothing scared me; nothing at all.
Then one day things started to change,
I found myself feeling kind of strange.
Like suddenly I didn't want to do it any more,
Like suddenly I was tired of keeping score.
Tired of waiting to have my brains blown out,
Tired of bullshitting and mucking about,
I wanted something or someone to believe.
I wanted to find purpose and a reason to live.
But I wasn't ready to be born again,
To say my prayers and call out AMEN.
I wasn't ready to ask for God's forgiveness.
I was way too caught up in old business.
For me, the only way out was the same as in,
and that meant blood, bones, guts, and skin.
After all just because I found a desire to live,
didn't mean God or Man could ever really forgive.
It's not like I could just walk away and not pay
for my multitude of crimes and sins of yesterday.
(C) 2016 Copyright Elena Plotkin