beside the sheet of foil
where the tracks of resin fall
are three tiny green pills
a synthetic punch of nausea
but I don't shrug this time
as you pierce the vein
and watch the flow
of blood to show you're alive
instead I pick up your Ruger
count the bullets in the barrel
click it in place
with the twist of the wrist
you once showed me
at the gun range
and I hold it against your skin soft
on the nape of your neck
and laugh at what the last
view you'll ever have
will be