That sad, soulful, sleepyhead
Moritz Stiefel
Was gone
Departed from this mortal realm
As quickly as one might take a breath
And as his best friend raised the cold silver cylinder to his temple
The moonlight glinting off of it
Almost serenely
As he cocked the gun
And placed his finger on the trigger
He didn't hear the whispering in the wind
Urging him to not do it
To not fire the gun
To not pull the trigger
But he didn't hear the whispers
Even as they grew louder
Turning into
Shouts
Screams
Shrieks
His dearly departed friend
And possibly more than that
Urging him to stop
Begging him
To go home
To not do as he had done
But he didn't hear the warnings
The pleads
And so
He pulled the trigger
And it was dark
So dark
So dark
So dark...