I'm pretty messed

I'm pretty messed
I realize
as I stand
in front of the stone
reminder erected.

I watched as she
fell to the ground
and her eyes so broad
staring out to me it
seemed to me and then
her head splintering against
the polished floorboard
creating a snapshot memorial.

Kneeling in the hallway
I watched my father
do this
and all I remember
is telling myself over
and over that this was good
this was good this is
the making of this is what
I need to one day
become a true artist.

So as I said
I'm pretty messed and
as I'm turning away
a single gray leaf
waltzes in front
of me and I'm jeering,

Hello constant reader.
You're welcome.