The one where you blow your head off with the gun, the gun
I searched for, the gun you fired over the phone while you
stayed silent to make me think you’d finally done it. The one
where I fall to the floor screaming. The one with the careful obituary,
the final post on Instagram. The one where I clean up the mess,
comfort your bewildered cats. The one with the packed funeral
where I give the eulogy, prop up your niece. The one about my
emotional death by you, the you you hid from others, texts fired
into my phone like bullets, insults stabbed into me year after year,
that tired story of the charming narcissist and the woman he broke.
Goodbye, all you devastations! The poem I did write is this one.
How it ends: a woman cradled her own life in her arms and ran.