Trigger Finger

Life is a jester.

The card 0.

The ever shifting fragment.

 

So I crawl between the cruel sheets of bare existence,

Laughing madly, depraved, in too deep.

Trying to keep the sun

From tilting the sky

On its fire pinwheel.

Only succeeding in burning the ridges of my fingertips

To a solar crisp.

 

Curse the slow, glacial suicide

Decided upon eons ago.

A molten core raging into nonexistence.

 

But I wish,

That I was as trigger finger as that.

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