You asked me why
he did it, why he
shot himself, he was just
twenty-six. Some horrid
nerve twitching in you,
a compatriot for all
living writers, you
loved him, or wanted to,
you consume your rivals’
heads while pumping their
apparatus in revenge.
Did he do it to get
published? you asked
because I was 26 and
I shared his book with you.
I bought it because I
loved his name, Breece
D‘J Pancake, would his
stories satisfy my hunger?
I didn’t know how to
answer you then. I did
know, but it didn’t matter.
When describing his soul
he said he left his ghost
In one of those hollows.
Would it help you to know
that if he found it, he’d
have to leave? He shot
himself. It wasn’t personal,
he didn’t mean anything
by it, he found his soul
and he shot himself in
the head, end of story,
not yours.
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