Killed It

I killed you.

Handed you the gun.

Loaded the bullets

that night when I ended

everything and anything

that might have been.

You voiced everything

I refused to give form.

You struggled to find

your way out of the cave

while I embraced the blindness,

huddled in claustrophobia.

How many bullets,

how many reasons did you need?

How many nights did you

play that game, uncertain

if you really wanted victory?

I voided your depression.

The unraveling of your mind

exposed my unfinished edges,

my own potential for madness.

Could I have counted

out your pills for twenty years,

pulled you back from sanity

every time you danced to the edge?

I was never brave enough for you.

Uncertain how to rescue a damsel,

I left you to fight your dragons alone.

I think of you every time

I bring the whip down on my own back.

I learned to wallow,

but never knighted up.

Put the gun in your mouth.

How many bullets did I give you?

Pull the trigger. Once. Twice, and

silence everything about myself

I ever saw, reflected back from

your beautiful, dead eyes.