i find myself thinking of his pen.
the pen clenched in his shaking hand,
anxiously scribbling "it's never worth it."
feet away
watching
as he ended his life.
an accomplice to my friend's suicide,
i hate this pen.
i find myself thinking of his gun.
the gun he held in his shaking hands,
complying with his demand
to fire.
an accomplice to my friend's suicide,
i hate this gun.
i find myself thinking of him.
the friend whose last minutes of life
were spent in
sadness.
the pen and gun blinded his senses,
leaving only an option of desperation.
i miss my friend.
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