There’s a reason they call it a trigger,
the way it shoots straight
into your heart and into your head
with no warning,
no chance raise your hands
to yell, “I’m unarmed!”
It takes you like a hand
that grabs you by the hair
and plunges your head into
the toilet, over and over
with no chance to gasp for air.
Your mind becomes a cesspool
of unwanted thoughts,
your heart races faster
than the speed of sound,
and for a time, you’d be
sprawled on the floor,
desperately trying to recover
the sanity that was lost
trying to scoop up the blood
that has been spilled on the ground.
There’s a reason they call it a trigger,
just one small misstep,
one slide of a finger
and all the senses,
all that is rational
come tumbling down like dominoes,
crashing like a demolition.
There’s a reason they call it a trigger (by Jai R.)
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