ginger ail and ailing bodies
Current mood:apathetic
its the warm gun he's been clutching for hours, thinking, always thinking.
sweat on his brow, the bullets are loaded. cold feet when it's ninety degrees?
no, fingers itching to pull the trigger, yearning to free his troubled soul. the clock is a bomb ticking until the final explosion.
a moment of certainty, a minute of doubt.
another failure.
yeah this was dated march18 2009
go young me
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