I Still Do

Dedicated to Anne Claire Alger-Young, written to those who don't understand why/that we always love the ones that hurt us the most.

I wanted to save you,
I know I tried so hard.

My mom runs to my side, screaming.
Dad is only steps behind her.
Why’d she have to see this?
Why would you do this in front of her?

I think I loved you.
I think I still do.

You’re turning the gun on yourself,
you’re shoving your mom out of the way.
The gun roars.
Your mom is saying: “is he dead?”
My mom replies: “evil can’t die.”
I hope you’re okay,
really, I do.

Your mom is screaming.
Y’know, you threw her on her arm.
She thinks it’s broken,
and she says it hurts.
She wants this moment to be about her,
her and her poor, poor son.

“Mom, I’m cold.”
Thick, red froth pushes past my lips,
instead of the words I want you to hear.

I couldn’t have gotten away, could I?
We were friends, you and I,
even after the divorce.

I wanted to save you,
I tried so hard.

People will wonder,
did it have to end this way?
I’m afraid so.

I know I loved you,
I know I still do.

This is the way, I know,
it was supposed to happen.

The End

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