Death Is

 I see Brian's head cracking against the concrete and his chest halt, his brawny frame taking its last breath on the asphalt. I see the boy whose name I cannot rip from my lips with a gun to his head, and the trigger he grips paints the wall red. This is what death is to me. The violent, the tragic, the spirit as it abandons the body.

This poem is about: 
Me
My community

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