I would like to believe
That if I was amidst
A bank robbery,
I would not choose
To be sarcastic.
I know we are writing
But that was a character
That as I was reading
Made me want to scream.
There was no point, really
To his aggression
Or lack of chivalry.
We’ve all been annoyed by
Those in front of us in line
But his quips were
Trite and unnecessary.
Do I think he deserved to die because of that?
Of course not.
But did I feel remorse?
He was character that did
Get my interest piqued,
But slowly lost my compassion
When he became nasty.
I guess a bullet
Flying through your brain
Can make one go crazy.
But why a dog a chain
And a baseball field
And “they is”
Were your repeated last refrain?
Constant flicker of last frames of
He completely pushed aside thoughts of family.
Yet not the girl to whom he lost his virginity.
I’m trying to make sense
Of the “mock tragedy”
But no emotion feels
Nothing feels reasonable enough
That would make me accept his situation logically.
But maybe that’s the beauty of it;
That in death we cannot be bothered to think logically.
And we are rash and all too feeling beings.
Holding onto our loved ones’ last words
Instead of replaying images of their fragility.
Maybe nothing makes sense,
‘Til a bullet shakes your brain
And all you can count on
Is lost and buried memories,
Rather than those who never really mattered,
But simply existed;
Placeholders in your life
That you associate with emotion
Rather than face.
Love is lost on those who made your heart
Skip a beat
Rather than settle into a comforting rhythm.
Stay up at night for those ones,
So that when the end does come…
Fall into that final, eternal sleep
Listening to a sweet and familiar melody
Rather than the clashing of short-lived ecstasy
And the shattering of fragmented metal
through your cerebellum.