Congratulations!
You made it alive
From the valley of death.
Only one could have survived—
It had to be you.
I was a limping sore anyway.
It’s okay if you left me to die,
I was already starting to turn,
They were messing with my brain,
It needed a shuteye.
So what if you had the gun?
Somebody had to do it.
Better it was you,
’Cause then I would never rise.
You did good.
With just one bullet
You smashed the brain and the heart—
A rare feat.
Maybe you could go
And tell the living about it.
Our side is the most depressing kind,
Not meant for lively excursions.
It should be left to rot
With our useless ambitions.
You, on the other hand,
Are what dreams are made of.
Go on, fulfil yours,
And don’t worry about the past.
It can’t be dug up
Without a shovel of conscience anyway.
When you reach home,
Be a sport and hide the gun,
Or they will know
You shot someone dear,
And then they might not trust
You with a gun again.