Point Blank

I'm friends with a monster, Inside my head. But I hate the way he is always Crawling under the bed when I want him beside me, holding my hand, Want him to protect me from all the thoughts racing Along the shore; a never-ending creed. I'm so tired of them, the thoughts- They're scarier than death. Now I want a gun pointed to my groin, Another to my head. Why does he sometimes leave me alone Confused about everything, scared of The way people talk, the way they react. That's when I need him the most To put a bullet through me; point blank range.