what may be going through the mind, of someone losing it.

 
I sleep in the trigger of a gun
Safely
No puny rapster on the dial
No waif
Morning minutes click by,signaling coffee breaks
and eagerly awaited buns
Cold Coke
Fate may spare a few, invitees to a trial
Smokers
Shell casings recycled like body parts,
dry black powder and teflon tips
Chambered
Held chaste, new virgins, they steel my heart
I pry back the hammer gently as a womans lips
Cocksure
As Roy Rogers on his Trigger,
cantering along familiar trails
Following fresh tracks left behind by desperados
Possee-less

Across the wadde, past the arroyo, and into the box canyon, littered with fast food containers

I get the drop on them and open fire, taking care
not to blow a hole in the water cooler bottle,
as water is scarce in these parts

Wasted