As I taste my gunmetal finger once more,
I reminisce of the zipper on my tattered jacket.
How similar the taste– as I sat on the bus,
Pretending to know the person next to me.
As I taste my gunmetal finger once more,
I reminisce of the smile I plastered to my face.
How similar the touch– the pressure on me,
Pretending that I can do my best for all.
As I taste my gunmetal finger once more,
I reminisce once before of smelling the flowers,
How similar the smell– nothing there at all,
Pretending I can smell each rose that I pass.
As I taste my gunmetal finger once more,
I reminisce of the shower that ran while I sat.
How similar the sound– the water that falls,
Pretending not to hear begging from my arm.
As I taste my gunmetal finger once more,
I reminisce of the plan for my magnum opus.
How similar the sight– my shaking hands,
Pretending not to be afraid of the unknown.
