Luck

he is in the middle of something
Painful
Choosing between slashing his wrist with a blade
Or firing a bullet in his head
In the middle ambiguities
he stopped

You called.

What if the blade slashed his wrist?
And blood squirted on the Floor like a basin of water
Like falling tears On his cheeks

What if the gun fired?
And his brain spills on his chest

What if you did not call?

It is the middle of pain It is the middle of confusing things

Sometimes, it is the middle That saves.

Luck.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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