September 5, 2010.


What were you thinking
that split-second before
you pulled the trigger
of your Walther PBK?


Your wife is in the living room. She’s crying, holding onto stacks of paper full of numbers you can’t seem to process. You sit beside her to tell her things are going to be okay. You’ll sell the car; you’ll find a way. She slaps you across the face and throws the papers at you. Since when did God become so cruel?


Why did you choose
the mouth over the heart?

Was it a decision made
over coffee this morning?

Did you decide on it as you
climbed the stairs to
your rooftop?


You’re all over the news in this town. Everyone wants to know why and how. Why. There are speculations, but no one really knows for sure. How. Some are suggesting foul play while some are simply nodding their heads. They don’t know. Nobody does. And yet. Everyone is talking like they’re experts on the matter. I never took you for the kind of person to give up. Your campaign jingles were hopeful and happy. You always had a smile on your face.


Water flowed through
your nose, ears, and mouth.

The helpers gasped at the
unbelievable sight of you—

broken, yet so at peace.
They wailed as if someone,

some god would hear their
shrieks and help them.

But even God knew clearly
there was nothing
he could possibly do.


Life is hard in this country, you said. But I will do what I can to help make your lives better. The crowd roared and you felt their love. There was not a doubt in everyone’s minds that you would win. And you did.


What was in your mind when
you grabbed tiny Walther PBK
and blew your

Posted at 5:37am and tagged with: sad, for a friend,.

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