today,

i killed a man.

my birthday was yesterday—

or maybe it’s tomorrow.

or is it today?

see, when all you hear is the earth shake,

and lights blind you with their flash,

you lose the track of time.

i wasn’t yet 18

when the officer came to our door,

and handed me that dreaded letter.

i remember mom breaking down that day.

it was the first time hearing her curse to god

and then pray for my mercy—all at once.

i sat on my bed for hours,

simply staring at the walls of my room,

thinking this might be the last time i ever would.

i haven’t seen my friend in a while—

he wore these glasses that made his eyes big,

also drafted the same day as me.

i found him reposing in the mud,

his glasses still on.

but that wasn’t my friend.

he promised we’d get out of this together,

that we’d go back home.

so why are we still here?

i was never as religious as mom,

but she made me pray anyway—

these words that never felt heard.

now, i only blur out the ones i can remember,

they come out in repetition,

hoping these might somehow save me.

if i were god, would i answer?

—to be prayed to only in times of need?

would i even listen to me either?

the gunshots almost go silent

as i stare down at this rifle i hold—

my hands, dirtied in crimson.

i wonder if the man who owned this blood

also prayed to god.

even as my bullet tore through him.

i hope he knows i didn’t want to,

that i didn’t mean to.

i hope he can forgive me.

but will god?

does he truly forgive, like mom said he did?

can he forgive a sin like mine?

i don’t want to look down.

i can’t look down.

the mud isn’t even brown anymore.

so i look up at the sky—

or at least what’s left of it,

and felt a couple drops fall on my cheek.

it’s normal for rain to fall at funerals.

but this time, the water’s warm, salty—

as if trying to wash my sin away.

cleansing me.

but is it?