You stare down the barrel of an orange pill bottle,
Pulling the trigger will make you live,
And it's like pulling a trigger,
Because suddenly living is the unspeakable,
The one that makes everyone hush,
Home is like a funeral for those who pulled the trigger,
We refuse to acknowledge that the gun brought them here,
We celebrate the fact that we exist.
But without that gun we might as well be dead,
What we live without that relief is not life,
But its own twisted reality.
It's what comes after we pull the trigger that is our desire,
When we finally escape our cruel living,
And arrive at our heaven. That's our dream.
That's what we want more than anything.
Heaven is beautiful, it's where we are ourselves,
And not these hollow shells of what we used to be.
We walk hand in hand, singing along to the parable of peace.
But then the sun goes down, the lights fade.
Darkness envelopes us, dragging us by our ankles back into life,
We claw and scratch and gnarl and bite
And cry and shake and crumble and fall
And love and lose and give and take
And the bottle is empty
And the chamber is full.
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