Put A Little More Pressure

I'm staring the barrel straight in the eye

wondering who would ask around if I were to die.

I have to stop replying to the sky

in a way that doesn't resemble my pride.

Counting the minutes, the seconds, the time

playing fetch in the dark with my poisonous mind.

A basket of saddness and numbness and grime

I pointed this gun to the dirt when it mimicked your cries

A sound I can only console if I were alive.