Words now flow from my pen with ease;
Actually, its just typing on the computer keys.
Tears flow from my eyes more now.
Loneliness can break even the strong, somehow.
Questions muddle in the minds of the weak;
Of this and more, I'll never speak.
A gun in the hand
May be worth two grand.
A bullet in the brain
Will not stop or restrain,
The awful fact,
That death and I,
Have made a pact.
She'll have hers, and I'll have mine.
My soul will part, at a price quite fine.
All will now hail, that unforgettable line,
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