Finally, I can rest in peace,
knowing that you're dead,
I still can't get your face and voice,
to get out of my head.
I look at your picture, on the wall,
was it real, or was it a dream,
as much as I try to regret it,
I know deep down inside, that it was real,
as fictious as it may seem.
The shot, the blood,
the tears, as they flood,
my heart, my head,
I wish you weren't dead.
All I have left is this picture,
hanging on the wall,
the memories, the flashbacks,
show the worst of it all.
XxAmieLee xX
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/picture-12/
