Where’s My .45?

What’s my fucking name again?

where’s my forty-five?

I’m covered in sweaty gelatin,

feeling uncertain if I’m alive;

the room spins,

the day begins,

the buzz of bees in a hive,

post-traumatic,

electric and static,

where’s my forty-five?

I’m angry for no obvious reason;

thoughts and feelings aside,

my heart must be bleeding,

my thoughts quickly reeling,

right foot – left foot – right;

my jaw hangs slack,

through a panic attack,

but where’s my forty-five?

What’s the date today?

the gate swung open, wide;

my fingers splayed,

cuss words said,

empty hands held high,

Day and Night,

a losing fight,

where the fuck’s my forty-five.

 

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