Eye of the Storm

There's a storm brewing on Christmas Eve,
And I'm walking right into it. God damn it.
I've seen some pretty shitty things in my life,
But nothing beats this. This takes the cake.
I have nothing to be thankful for this Christmas
Except for my life, if you believe religious freaks.
I'm bundled up here in my coat,
Looking like the proverbial ball of Jesus' dandruff,
And I'm freezing my ass off. Just freezing. Yeah.
I'm freezing while millions of others are indoors.
I must be the dumbest son of a bitch alive.
Lovers grin and kiss and fuck and all that stuff,
And what does yours truly have? Nothing.
I have nothing. Thank you, God.
Thank you, you divine mother fucker for depriving me.
There's gotta be something in the world to fill this void.

Then, it occured to me. There's a gun in one of my pockets.
If I don't get frostbitten, I might just reach for it.
There we are. Smith and Wesson. The finest in the land.
A .44 Magnum. It will blow my head clean off.
I sniff of it, taste it with a nice sucking motion.
I might as well get acquainted with it since it will be my finale.
And then, a tear runs down my cheek. Whatever for?
Perhaps I'm more of a coward than I thought.
I can't even bring myself to end this travesty of a life,
And I suppose that I wasted my saliva as well.
I wipe the barrel of the shit from inside my mouth,
And just put the mother fucking gun into my pocket.

From here, who knows where I will go.
I guess I will continue walking on into the eye of the storm.