You always write for and because of her.
Well, why wouldn't you?
She, who took away the most space in you;
would I even matter?
You lose yourself, intoxicated
by the thought of her.
But still, she filled your consciousness
even when you're sober.
I heard you came knocking at your own door
with eyes red and tensed jaws.
I noticed blood on your hands and I knew then
that your plan went through.
I let you in and gave you your keys.
"How far did you go?"
I asked offering a bottle of cold beer.
"I couldn't do it. I couldn't kill the man she loves."
You covered your face with both your hands.
I tried to calm you down.
"Everything will be okay" I said as I felt my hands trembling
reaching for the gun.
...
I smirked as I placed your cold hands firmly around your gun.
I wrote, "To Daisy, you are as warm as the yellow sun.
But you left me no choice and use this gun."
A farewell fit for you since you always wrote for her.