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