Not A Good Twist

I saw the scars on his arms,
He must've been through hell

The wounds on his body
So many bruises, he'd been beat
But somehow it looked like
He hadn't yet seen defeat

His face was pale,
As white as chalk
His mouth was closed,
There was no key, it was locked

He held the gun to his head,
Pulled the trigger,
Then sighed.
Life really sucked,
But did he really want to die?

As he talked himself out of it,
He started to see,
The man staring back at him was me.