Crossfire

(for the people I've loved over the years who suffer from depression or something similar; if you don't like emo-style introspection, you need not read further)

I.
I did not want to exist, so I pretended you did not.

I took you down as I shot myself.

I cried out for help, but I could not find relief. I growled at you from the corner of my soul as I licked the gaping wounds.

I have returned; I am better.
Talk to me, friend, and stay a while.


II.
I was taken down in the crossfire; closed in by an airless, sullen void of burning grief.

I wanted to put an arm around you; but you refused. I wanted to take you out of the corner and into the light of day. The light of day was too terrible.

I can no longer be well; but I forgive you.
I need help, but not yours.
I offer love, but not mine.