Biting the Bullet, In Metaphorical Terms, Of Course

You sit there with questions.
With frustration and confusion and
a broken heart(whatever that really means)
typing with a paper towel wrapped around
your still bleeding hands.
Three hours?  Still?
I may die tonight, pouring my essence
onto this paper or that paper,
one stained black the other red.
Lick the barrel of a loaded gun,
I've been told,
is what one must do to understand life.
All I understand is everything comes with a price.
Jagger has said it, Poe and Plato and
Alfred f*****g Hitchcock too.
But in honesty I say nay to them,
and to me.
To get what you want is what
truly matters in life,
to be satisfied and happy,
content with everything and everyone.
Then when you do lick the bullet as it fires,
taste the hot metal and smell the pugnant fumes,
you won't be looking back on a life of regrets,
of times sacrificing what makes you happy
just to get what everyone says you need.

Everyone is trying to run from the bullet.
We all see it, people losing weight, quitting smoking,
diets, exercise, lysol and beyers.
We've forgotten that it is the end of all things that makes
it all seem so beautiful.
What matters today won't matter when you are rotting,
only while you are still here,
so why not find what is needed for today and deal
with tomorrow, tomorrow?
And I'm pretty positive as you sit there today,
reading this, that tomorrow you will
have the same strength, if not more,
and nothing will be able to bring you to your knees for long.

Not a single soul wants to die crying and alone,
so please don't look back on your death bed and cry
for chances lost,
but cry instead for times had and people met and
times claimed.
Tears of joy always seemed to taste better on my
tongue than tears of absolute grief.

"The wonderful thing about tiggers, is tiggers are wonderful things...they bounce they bounce they bounce they bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce. ohhhhhhhh, the most wonderful thing about tiggers is that I'm the only one. IIIIIIIIIII'm the only one."