Color me hopeless

Weak and woeful
Trigger fingered tourrettes syndrome
tasting metal on my lips
and my shattered attempts
at everything

I have
blown away
so many futures
that 
it seems that
my past will swallow me whole

Shadowfingered 
Serpents
gliding among the bullet casings of
so many failed attmepts
to find
that ever elusive
light in the shadows

I found that light
once
curled my fingertips around it
and it thawed
what was once frigid and cold.

but I 
tenaciously intent
on self sabatoge
it seems
could only 
squeeze the trigger
wallowing
in the shower of broken glass to follow.

subliminally
I must enjoy bleeding

the feeling
of my heart
spilling from my eyes.
The fear
of what could have been
lighted corridors
and smiling faces

because
My hands
still hug cold metal
and the trigger
still clicks
four years
blank with flashes
of the most beautiful light
I've ever seen

Blown to bits

Crushed
by my graceless dark

and I've still got two chambers left.