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Array
(
[sid] => 35332
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Pass Around the Handgun of Life
[time] => 2004-02-17 16:48:30
[hometext] => This poem takes place in a bathroom stall. This poem is in my pocket.
[bodytext] => As I lift the handgun to my head, I feel a swift breeze. I think of all the things I will miss. Folded paper in my pocket, Walls spray-painted all around me. Is this what it has come to? A warm tear leaves my eye. As I watch it fall to the floor, My hands are clenched, And my voice is shaky. The cold tip of the gun lies against my head. I exclaim the last words that will have leave my mouth. “Goodbye my friend” It’s all over. I won’t be to school Monday. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 210 [topic] => 36 [informant] => threeonone [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => Suicide )
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