Click

theres a click of a gun
its pointed at you
hold your breathe
wish it wasn't you
count to ten, let it out
then start again
hold your breathe
thers not much for you to do
hope not to splinter
thoughts run through your mind
count to ten, let it out
then start again
hold your breathe
can't you hear the screams?
nothing is real
count to ten, let it out
to bad
to late
start again

by The White Rabbit

Other poems of RABBIT (21)

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