I sleep with a gun
under my pillow
it leaves a bruise
at my temple.
Am I drunk again or only
afraid of the dark. Am I
really here or dreaming in
the darkness of my mind.
Will the devil inside me find
the trigger once again,
glancing with glee as I
pull the trigger within.
I'll still be wrestling with him
in the dawn of the morn
staring at him over the steam
from my coffee mug
with the gun
pressed at my temple.
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