Sillage

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Death In Vegas “Dirge”

The scent in my nostrils
It lingers
Triggering a memory directing me to pull the wretched trigger
Whispering overtures of dissonant persuasion in voices that gain their vile kicks from each whimper
Pilfering any valid reason not to squeeze but reconsider

Can I do this?
Actually pursue this kind of agonized end?
Is there really no other way of getting through this?
Once I commit, then I’m committed to the fact
Not so easy turning back when the contents of your skullcap are dashed across the glossed wall to the back
Can I really trust myself to pull the trigger in a rush?
Or could it be I do not trust enough?

The scent in my nostrils
Still lingers
Perhaps this explains why I’m backed up with doubt
While blowing my brains out would offer solution
It just seems so final
Such foregone conclusion
The voices in my head may well indeed wish me deceased
Dead set on attack as a means to defend
But I find their restless suggestions offensive
Not to mention all ten of my senses that question their ever contentious incentive

What if I am strong enough to contest the mundane pain gnawing away at my terminal restraint
What if I were to disclaim this impermeable stain
Place the gun down gently
Very simply walk away
Leave the clean up job for some other pained prey on another gray day
Was never my design to face resign in this way

With this, I inhale
Lift the pageantry veil
Of familiar fragrance long famed in the vale
Has only one wish
Live to see me prevail
For the pattern of tide hints at changes

The scent in my nostrils
Shall linger through the ages
Triggering a memory of worn out journal pages
Whispering the overtures of glittering persuasion
Rejoiced in the voices of choice decoration

There it is
That familiar sillage
The familiar face just the same as I remembered
Never again to be surrendered
For I shall prevail along the sweet-scented trail
Release my finger from the trigger
And
exhale