The embrace of death sat uncomfortably in my hand,
cold metal against the heat of the barrel,
a small slither of smoke winding upwards into sight -
a vein of grey into flawless moonlight.
The cylinder sat, one chamber empty,
whilst the bullets awaited in numbers plenty,
the engravings on the case of each,
resonated throughout the night,
in plain view, yet out of reach
the memory fades, but the word I can't forget,
engraved into the silver case, read the word - "regret."
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