I held the bullet to my lips,
the metallic, greasy taste making
me want to retch.
I kissed it softly,
loading it into a silver
revolver that smiles like
a wolf in the moonlight.
Just a game,
I whisper,
just a game,
as I spin the cylinder before it clicks
into place,
a soothing sound.

When he reads the note I left,
I’m sure he’ll sink to the floor,
writhing in agony,
wailing even,
surely lamenting over the loss
of a loved one.

But for now, I’ve smoothed the yellowing
paper, smearing the ink of my goodbyes.
The gun’s to my temple,
where it’s always belonged,
and a smile lingers on my lips.
Just a game,
I whisper,
but I’m feeling lucky.