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“You point the gun at me as if it’s some sort of threat” The perpetrator stood in confused silence while the laborer went on “You point the gun at me as if I haven’t sat on the cold wood of my apartment and cried, putting the taste of stinging metallic in my mouth, tasting the gun powder, feeling the trigger and willing myself not to for the sake of my mother. You point that weapon and me as if I haven’t wondered how bad it would feel if I swallowed the jumble of pills in my hand. You threaten my life as if every time I am near a railing at a height the thought ‘what if?’ doesn’t float into my mind.” His voice rose and the perpetrator was downright terrified “As if every time I held a knife, I put it to my wrist then dropped it with shaking hands. I have come to close to Death to fear it, Death is a friend I’m all to welcome to invite in,