Breathe

They say that suicide is contagious, but I never believed that, I mean it’s not like it’s a disease or a virus. I always thought they said that in the hopes that people wouldn’t off themselves thinking that if they did the people they loved would as well. I never believed it, not one word of it. Well, that was until I found Frank lying on the tiled bathroom floor in a pool of his own blood, a shiny silver gun lying beside him, still grasped in his cold, dead, lifeless hand.

In a way it’s kinda funny, two people who claimed to loved and cared for us took their own lifes without so much as a second thought about how we would feel.

No note, no nothing.

Gerard and Frank, they were meant for each other, both stupid and selfish.

I probably sound bitter, but that’s okay ’cause I am bitter.

And we tried so hard to help Frank and Gerard, but they wouldn’t have that, no, they just wanted to wallow in their misery until they couldn’t take it anymore.

And now we have to clean up their mess.

Now I have to clean up what’s left of Frank.

Blood and brain matter.

They tell me it’s not my fault and that even if I didn’t go to the store he still would have found a way to do it anyway.

Maybe they’re right.

Or maybe they’re just trying to make me feel better.

Frankly I just don’t care.

But right now all I have to do is take it one step at a time.

All I have to do is breathe.

Just breathe.