Poetic Interludes 9: Doing A Job
Written by Redell

	   	     I did not have a nervous breakdown.
                     (I didn't.) It wasn't my fault.
                     (It wasn't) You can't understand.
                     (Why do I have to talk to you?)
                     Have a bad day? Not feel like himself?
                     I did. (I do.) Just doing my job.

                     I pulled the trigger. Yes. (I miss Frank)
                     I didn't realize I was doing it when I did.
                     (Murdered because of spoon)
                     I shot him. Broke his flesh.
                     (What disrespect could Moss have felt?)
                     I work Homicide. (I didn't commit one.)

                     ....this isn't happening...this isn't happening...this isn't

                     I had to. Gee was right. He pulled first.
                     Clean shooting.
                     (He wasn't in his right mind.)
                     Shot first. (I forgot how *red* blood was)
                     (All he wanted was the soup!!)
                     He took upon himself to prove he didn't need pity; he took a life.
                     (I took his) Retribution? (Didn't want the spoon) Fear?
                     Clean shot. (Is this what Kellerman felt...??)


                     I killed a man...I killed a man...I killed a man...I killed a man...I
                     killed a man...Ikilledaman...Ikilledaman..Ikilledaman...

                     Lewis knows I'm a good cop. (Do I?) He told me himself. 
                     (Was he just being nice?)
                     No. Meldrick *always* tells it like it is. 
                     He wouldn't lie to me.  He wouldn't. 
                     I trust him. More than I do myself. I believe he is right. Good.

                     What am I going to do?
                     (I know the pain of a bullet)
                     I can't fear this (for it is myself.) that I don't know. 
                     I looked down at him.
                     I am but only human. I have faults. 
                     (The scars are still there, patterning my skin)
                     Fears. The need for retribution. I made a mistake.

                     Yeah, that's it. A mistake. I reacted too quickly.
                     My fault. I can't be me. I can't be...

                     Is Homicide for me? (What will I do?) Can I go on?
                     (Where will I go?) 
                     Do I have the willpower? (Do I?)
                     I don't know. I don't know. I don't know.