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by Patsy Lynne Chubb Feb 24, 2007
Dark, fantasy /
I held a gun on my right hand while looking in the mirror.
I stood there aiming at myself, hoping it would hit my chest.
Ready to pull the trigger.
Bullet was shot . . .
The sad part of this story is that...
...It didn't hit the right spot...
by Noelle Wright
Jeeze what an oddly twisted poem i love it! 5/5