Take it, I Don’t Want it I would’ve shot myself if I had a gun back then. But that was back then. If I had a gun now, I’d give it to my worst enemy and look into their eyes as steel touched their cold hands. I’d watch reflections of doubt crowd their moons that orbit around passion, eclipsing life, as my palms crawl up mountains of grief to punch the precipice of acceptance and prove that my hands hurt because of my actions. And if your actions were the last thing that I’d experience, I’d understand, for I think I get human nature. Nature, it’s kind of funny. Anyway, I’d give you the gun. Take it, I don’t want it.