With Death Comes Peace

Short and to the point.

Staring into the rain,

Feeling nothing, seeing nothing but her depression.

With death comes peace.

Sitting alone, watching the rain,

Soaked to the bone, her tears become invisible.

With death comes peace.

Under her right hand, the cold, depressingly-black of her pistol,

In her left, the one necessary bullet. The executioner.

With death comes peace.

She prepares the pistol and her mind,

Focusing on the barrel which faces her.

...

Her job... complete.

With death... came peace.