This is just a short, sort of depressing bit that I thought of in the car and wrote down on my IPhone.
The day you died, I lost myself.
I listened to some girls I didn't know on the corner of the street talking about how sad it was. That moment I heard, I didn't believe it. Not until I got home and heard Mandy crying in her bedroom.
The day you died, I trashed my room until I found that shirt you hadn't meant to leave. I put it on even though it was too tight, even though it was uncomfortable, it sort of reminded me of how I always felt. Uncomfortable. I put it on because if I tried, I could still imagine that it smelt like you.
The day you died I made sure that there was a gun on the table when I punched him in the face. I made sure he was listening to me when I told him I was gay, made sure he heard. The day you died, I had a smile on my face when my father shot me.
The day you died was the day I died. Because I didn't want to live as Mickey Milkovich anymore.
