Let’s pretend we’re both guns, and make this shit erratic:
I’ll be the revolver, you can play the automatic.
Automatic flip scripts, revolver show loyalty.
Each gun is die-able, but only one’s reliable.
You shoot fast, but in the end you jam,
Then I click back, and turn your brains into spam.

• 2005
• Guns
• metaphor
• mf grimm
• scars and memories
• violence