When I was young,
I was handed a silver gun.
It was loaded with ammo
And how to pull the trigger I was shown.

Clicks and bangs
Through my brain have rang,
Only because the bullets you'll find
Are stuck inside my mind.

When I'm thinking at night
I no longer put up a fight.
Bang, it all goes
And the color begins to flow.

There's nothing to end
This awful thinking trend.
No amount of bullets can clog
This brooding fog.

—
A/N:
What thinking feels like.
Am I right?
Please comment and vote!