Your signature was so crisp
And so elegant.
But now it is smeared
With the thoughts that once made up
My ****** up mind
that was once so alive
and utterly depressed.
I asked you to sign
that 147 grain piece of shrapnel
To keep in my 9mm handgun
In case anyone ever tried to hurt me.
I just wanted to make sure
That I would have you with me.
But now you’re gone
And so am I
And the crimson streaks
Left on the walls and ceiling
Of the bedroom where we once shared so much intimacy
Scream
that all is not as right in the world
as we teach our children to hope for.
So I bid you farewell,
And I hope that the cops come to you,
Bring you the bullet that flew through my skull,
And say, “This belongs to you.”