On Writing: A Sample...

"And I'm staring down the barrel of a 45,
Swimming through the ashes of another life
No real reason to accept the way
things have changed."
--Shinedown

Here is where I could use some comments my friends. This is a small sample from the current piece I am trying so desperately to turn into a book. Let me know what you think.

My extremely sensory imagination saved my life that day. It’s difficult to put into words the description of what a big solid block of metal clicking against your incisors is like, so if you can, imagine tapping your two front teeth with a ball peen hammer. The sharp click, of metal on bone. The vibration traveling straight through your skull to the audio sensory organs in your ears. The click magnified to the point of being deafening due to its close proximity to your eardrum. The sensation of that unrelenting, unmoving pressure. The head of that hammer feels huge, doesn’t it? The metallic taste left on the enamel of your teeth that spreads its bitter flavor to the tip of your tongue...
Are you with me?
Well then, it wasn’t the thought of a hammer clicking against my teeth that sent a shiver down me. The tool in my hand had the same unyielding weight, and the same bitter metallic taste, but it was designed for something different altogether.
At 2.49 lbs, and eight and a half inches respectively, the Colt semiautomatic pistol is capable of sending a metal projectile just under a half-inch in diameter at a rate of eight hundred thirty feet per second through anything dumb enough to get in its way. It’s both a formidable chunk of steel, and a formidable means of accomplishing what I had in mind. At eight hundred thirty feet per second, neither the roof of my mouth nor my brain housing group was likely to offer much resistance, and after that? Sweet, blessed oblivion. Free from this pain. Free from this vast emptiness and cold that burned its way through the middle of me. Free.
Then came the thought of that two pounds of metal clicking against my teeth. I felt the cold blue steel against my lips, and heard the hard metal click against my right front incisor. I realized that an impact any harder than that, and my teeth would break like glass. Let me assure you that all the fluoride treatments in the world wont amount to a pile of shit if someone was to swing one of these bad boys into your pie hole.
The truth of it is, that in a few seconds the inconvenience of having broken teeth wouldn’t matter much anyway, yet the thought caused me to pause just long enough for the unpleasantness of that idea to sink in. Here I was about to paint the wall behind me with a brush of two hundred thirty grains of instant dispatch, and I was worried about my dental health.