Her Death Becomes Me

A lonely shot in the dark
A grave call in the night
Her death brought the beginning
A change in a life

In our world
She was my sister.
In death
She was my savior.

She rescued me from
The illusions that shrouded
My body and vision
From the beginning of maturity.

She freed my spirit
From its mental pit
When she liberated her soul
With the delicate pull of a trigger

Allowing me to see
Finally
The horizon instead of the crypt
in which my vitality had been
entombed.

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I wrote this for a Creative Writing class I took. It’s a reflection upon my aunt’s suicide in 1998.

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