im mad even though it hurts

my uncle committed suicide in 2004, two weeks before christmas.

come christmas, it'll be just over a year
since anthony introduced that
bullet to his throat, brain and skull.
he ruined that happy family facade we've been trying to keep
grandma, gina and chase sat front row.
three medicated monkeys, taught to be still and silent.
they did cry, that part of their brain,
the pills those doctors supplied couldnt control.
but they seemed like manequins.
just standing there, accepting condolences that were
a dime a dozen down the Hallmark aisle.
i sat on that swing in front of the chapel
and performed my duty of the clown.
im the one whos expected to make everyone laugh.
as mad as i am at anthony,
the uncle who taught me how to play pool
and introduced me to led zepllin,
i cant help but feel sorry for him.
all these tear-stained faces would have helped,
and made sure that he never kissed that gun barrel.

Reviews

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This is a bitterly sad poem. Thank you for sharing. Sometimes writing about terrible memories and sad personal events takes a lot of strength to share with others.

I love the way you liken the mourners to mannequins, and medicated monkeys, it's a definite twist on the state of mind of people who are in deep grief. And just the same, you even managed to inject a degree of twisted humor to this poem with lines like "accepting condolences that were a dime a dozen down the Hallmark aisle." This is brilliantly funny in a dark way. Your imagery is fantastic.