The End

The End
By: James Dubeau

Heavy weight
In my hand
Cold steel
Against my flesh
My finger traces
Protruding metal
Feeling the curves
The grace
Few last wisps
Curl round my head
Putting a haze
On dim light
Filtering through
Closed blinds
Empty bottle
Stands alone
Upon my desk
The last man standing
In a long line of
Dedicated
Loyal
Soldiers
Cool metal
Presses against
My temple
In a flash
All is
Dark