Shot

A shot is a shot, it doesn't matter from who's gun it came.

I can't breathe when I think about it, I can't breathe. A leaded weight ties itself to my lungs and I just can't breathe.

I can't talk or focus my mind to anything - lack of oxygen breaks your brain. Once sharp, it’s now blunt and raw.

Regression, it happens. We are human, mistakes are our design flaw. We have little triggers to make us short circuit, we falter, we make amends, we trip another switch. An endless cycle on a permanent loop.

Fifty-six days, I took a shot. It was my hand on the trigger and pointed at me. Day one starts again when the fog rolls out to welcome a new dawn.