A smoke lined halo
Lingers above the cigarette
Clutched between the bloody knuckles of his hand

The thought of peace
Frequents the distraught thoughts
Of his everlasting corrupt conscious

On the table lies a gun
Attention outlines a sparkle
The same of which is congested in his eyes

His answer is undarkened
An unmistakable sign reveals a hammer pulled back
He wonders if the world will understand what's next

Tye Randall Beach