The cleanup wasn't fun.
A .22? What the fuck were you thinking? You're lucky, in a way. You could have just really fucked yourself up and lived. Bryan said you probably bled to death in the yard before anyone found you. You're lucky JP didn't hear the shot. Bryan said the cleanup wasn't fun.
I walked up to the casket today and I wanted to say, "Get up, you look way too alive to be in that box." The undertakers did too good of a job on you. You looked way too alive today. I needed you to look sort of dead, so that I could convince myself that this week has, in fact, been real. But no...just as cute as always...they even got a little bit of a smirk on your face, so you really truly looked like you. The fucking .22 slug meant that the undertakers could reconstruct your head nicely. Not like some of the friends I've looked down at in years past.
Josh is destroyed, and Stephen. JP...it will be very hard for him to put the memory of finding you in the yard out of his mind. The others seem to be taking it a bit better but we are all roiling on the inside with anger and confusion and grief. Bryan believes you just lost it and impulsively did this, because you rummaged through JP's stuff to find the gun...you didn't have it stashed away already, waiting for the moment.
I want to envision you in a suicide cry: I want to envision you pressing those slacks in the middle of the night and choosing your dad's bowling shirt because you know that in the morning when JP finds you asleep in the yard in those clothes with the gun he will know how much pain you are in. I imagine you putting the gun to your head, out in the quiet Baton Rouge morning, and pretending that you'd pull the trigger, knowing a fucking .22 is not really the weapon for the job...I see you put a little pressure on the trigger, just to test yourself. I see the test go wrong.
Goddammit, I hope that is what happened. I love you and I hope you understand why I am angry about all this. This world was better with you in it. You've robbed us, all of your friends who would have taken a bullet for you in the face of adversity.
Of course, I would have tried to avoid taking the bullet in my head.
A .22? What the fuck were you thinking? You're lucky, in a way. You could have just really fucked yourself up and lived. Bryan said you probably bled to death in the yard before anyone found you. You're lucky JP didn't hear the shot. Bryan said the cleanup wasn't fun.
I walked up to the casket today and I wanted to say, "Get up, you look way too alive to be in that box." The undertakers did too good of a job on you. You looked way too alive today. I needed you to look sort of dead, so that I could convince myself that this week has, in fact, been real. But no...just as cute as always...they even got a little bit of a smirk on your face, so you really truly looked like you. The fucking .22 slug meant that the undertakers could reconstruct your head nicely. Not like some of the friends I've looked down at in years past.
Josh is destroyed, and Stephen. JP...it will be very hard for him to put the memory of finding you in the yard out of his mind. The others seem to be taking it a bit better but we are all roiling on the inside with anger and confusion and grief. Bryan believes you just lost it and impulsively did this, because you rummaged through JP's stuff to find the gun...you didn't have it stashed away already, waiting for the moment.
I want to envision you in a suicide cry: I want to envision you pressing those slacks in the middle of the night and choosing your dad's bowling shirt because you know that in the morning when JP finds you asleep in the yard in those clothes with the gun he will know how much pain you are in. I imagine you putting the gun to your head, out in the quiet Baton Rouge morning, and pretending that you'd pull the trigger, knowing a fucking .22 is not really the weapon for the job...I see you put a little pressure on the trigger, just to test yourself. I see the test go wrong.
Goddammit, I hope that is what happened. I love you and I hope you understand why I am angry about all this. This world was better with you in it. You've robbed us, all of your friends who would have taken a bullet for you in the face of adversity.
Of course, I would have tried to avoid taking the bullet in my head.
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