Poetry, Quill

Cost You

Genre: Subtle Horrorcore

How much would it have cost you, a lousy letter or a call
I suppose, not more than pulling that pistol out of drawer
Cocked it, aimed it, shot me in the head
but smart enough not to leave any proof
for anyone to find it was you who got me dead.

I was lying there bare, and my brains fell out
picked it, pushed it back in and tried to crawl out
As I regained my conscience, it was crazy what I found
The scene was all clear and no blood was spilled around

Confused, I dazed tryna figure why my head would hurt
Only to realize the irony that curbed
That the bullet was just silence, and the pistol were your words.

Now as I walk along the streets, people confuse me with alive
Asking all their whys and how the grass looks greener on my side
Until I start to tear it all out, let out wild cries
Just run in my room turn the system onto max, in a hope to hide.

Sheets rolled all over, I sweat hurled in a corner
Where gloom looks at me like a coroner
I picture your face in it, and start throw fits
like a crazy addict, cutting but air with his wild violent hits.

But soon I grow weary and start to lose my breath
I feel your hand at my throat, choking me to death
The vision blurs down and it all gets dark
And glad I lay, with no more tries.
Seems a happy ending
But soon a stark streak of light enters my eyes
The sun is back up, got to get back on life.

As I plod to the shower, I wonder to myself
How much would it have cost you, a lousy letter or a call
I suppose, not more than pulling that pistol out of drawer.

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