Apr 2021
Momma blew her
brains out loud.
No one told me why.
She chose to die.
It had to be my fault.
I always made her cry.
I wished her happy.
I wrote her poetry
comedy and tragedy.
She could have drowned
or jumped to her death
leaving us without her mess.
She chose a gunshot instead.
Painted the kid's walls red.
brains out loud.
No one told me why.
She chose to die.
It had to be my fault.
I always made her cry.
I wished her happy.
I wrote her poetry
comedy and tragedy.
She could have drowned
or jumped to her death
leaving us without her mess.
She chose a gunshot instead.
Painted the kid's walls red.
Her messy death left her scream for the rest of my life. She loved dramatic exits. I still miss you, Momma!
I wrote this for 2 gunshot suicides I heard about second hand and my heart broke for the kids who found Mommy dead in a mess she'd always leave.
I wrote this for 2 gunshot suicides I heard about second hand and my heart broke for the kids who found Mommy dead in a mess she'd always leave.
