hopefully the rest will make it on here,
this is mostly just to see if ive managed to peak anyone's interest.
a thesis you could say:
it was spring,
the last of winters chill melting away,
turning into flowers.
lavenders and gardenias,
spread across the meadows that circled our home.
it was spring,
when my mother put that 9 mm to her temple and pulled the trigger.
i remember the sound of the gun.
my father and i were sitting on the porch,
covered in a thin layer of sweat from hiking back from our private lake after our annual fishing trip.
i had always been daddy's little girl,
that made concrete when i followed my father inside to find my mothers brains splattered artistically on the linoleum floor of our kitchen.
after that everything became a blur.
a phone call.
red and blue lights.
a stretcher.
and then silence.
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