What if madness is naught but a symptom towards sanity?
Like the double faced coin used to decide if you'd live or die.
Is life a simple gamble?
Each day a shuffled deck?
Or a pistol lacking one in a playful game of russian roulette?
Each step taken that glistening trigger pulled.
You made it to the dead end job you have because you're useless and no one else would hire you.
Your boss degrades you for eight hours with no help being stemmed forth from your collegues.
You're returning to your rotting excuse for an apartment because you lack the pay to live somewhere halfway suitable to inhabit.
You sit on the edge of your empty bed because every woman you approach looks down upon you like the pathetic scum you are.
You put the gun in your mouth that you bought with your measly paycheck.....
A saving grace in the weight of that pistol. Only contrasted by a handful of blanks.
To hear the sound of a bullet finally being sent coursing through your brain.
But don't worry little one.
Scarecrow is here.
And I brought you a nice little bullet...