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I had to kill him

I had to kill him.

I could tell I was weak

becoming only weaker.

This is why I had to kill him.

In the days beyond his death,

I found the inability to cry.

I found the acceptance to die.

I waited and watched

as life met with death,

I saw them talk a little while.

I had to kill him.

He had to die.

Morbid as it seems,

I don’t believe I have done ill.

Psychosis, though I may have caught,

upon my soul, he did wrought.

I had to kill him,

and watch him die.

Though it is not murder of which I speak,

it is not death that here you read.

A battle within,

a battle as old,

as every kin

or any story told.