Not Even a Letter Left Behind

SHORT EXPLAINATION: My uncle killed himself in March of this year... The following is the peom I wrote just a little while ago, I decided against posting the one I wrote right after it happened...
Thank you for reading this rant like non-ryhming poem!!!


I see the gloves removed from hands,
Lain on your grave,
I am back to when you gave me my 16th birthday gift,
Ah the irony,
My first gun,
An offer to learn from you,
A relationship we never had before,
And now your brothers are crying,
And my mother,
Your sister,
Is putting a note in your grave.

And my grandmother is sobbing,
I can imagine the moment of your death,
How you must’ve felt,
Not even a letter left,
As you took the gun,
To your head,
And shot yourself,
In your own mother’s house,
In the room across from her bed,
Oh how your mother must have felt,
When she found you in your room.

You’re the one that taught me,
All the little things,
About pool and gambling,
And as I remember your face,
I feel as though,
I am back in my room,
Being told that you died,
And that they didn’t know why,
Then later that day,
Realizing that that was a lie.

I promised I’d never cry another tear for you,
And as I stand here at your funeral,
Trying to keep it all inside,
Trying to hold it together for my grandma,
For my mom,
All as I watch,
The future as I view it,
Cruelly get covered with dirt,
On a sunny day,
And I think how much I hate you,
Even as my heart aches.

Even now months later,
It still hurts,
I see the effect it has had on my family,
And I can’t help but to wonder why,
My grandma still hears your steps,
Walking down the hall at night,
She’s very depressed,
We all miss you,
We all hate you,
We all love you,
I don’t think,
That we will ever,
Ever forgive you.