Talk About It
"Maybe," they say," You just need
to talk about it."
But I'm sure I don't want to. That it's
a bad idea.
"Come on," they say, "You'll feel better!
Talk about it!"
Sure, like hell I'll feel better. 'Getting it
out there.'
But they're still
pushing for details. So I tell them.
"Dead. She's dead. Shot. In the stomach.
No, don't know how many times. Yeah, he's dead
too. The guy
that did it.
They got him. He's gone too. So, guess it sorted
itself out."
And faces drop, smiles fall a million
miles, down to the ground. Eyes turn
gray.
"Oh," they say. And I know:
They didn't really want me to
talk about it. They didn't
really care; didn't really want to know.
After all,
who does want to know when
a friend
has died;
was murdered.
Most people want to shake their head and
go on their way.
They don't really want to
talk about it.
Points: 890
Reviews: 9
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