Your fingers are numb, the book falls to the floor
You don't want to think, to read any more
Your stomach has dropped, your heart is pounding
You feel like suffocating, as if you're drowning
Deep down, you know that this isn't real
But you can't bring yourself to say its stupid, because of how it feels
Because you've followed this character as he struggles on through
And you feel all his pain, and you know that it's true
And when you pick the up the pages – the number burned in your mind
You can't bear to think of what you might find
And the words printed on the page, almost bring you to your knees
It whispers in your ear, a soft
"Please Tommy, please,"
Your eyesight is now blurry, and a tear drops on the page
Mirroring many others, no matter what age
Because the grief in your chest, it grips so tight
Because you know that the main character won't put up a fight
You know what he'll do, like the back of your hand
You don't want to admit it, but you know he will stand
And the dread it is heavy, like lead on your tongue,
Mixing with your tears, in knowing it's won
A whisper of breath escapes your lips
And you hiccup slightly, as your hand grips
You bring yourself to look, and the sentence is burned in your brain
And you don't understand, how you can feel this pain
But you do, and it hurts, and you know it'll pass
But that doesn't make it any better, like picking at the grass
A scab, a wound, and its only getting bigger
And you just want to sob when it says
"He pulled the trigger"
And with that, the chapter ends, and silence feels your head
And you fall back with a bitter laugh, bouncing on your bed
Even though you try and distract yourself, the words just run instead
And you can't help but mull it over, and still feel so mislead
You comprehend what happened, and it just feels so shifty
You know you're in denial, but denial is so nifty
For ignoring the truth and saying it was risky
But he might still be alive, his future is just misty
But this is all lies and the threads you grasp for are wispy
You try and get up, but your mind is still frisky
So, when you've accepted, though you still feel you need a whiskey
You along with the rest of the fandom never speak of
Two hundred and fifty
