Shot Through

My knuckles are turning white,
And the gun in my hand grow warm,
As I stare at the smoking hole.

It was quick
And horrifying....
The look of utter fear in his face,
The cry,
And the way the body,
Just slumped to the floor.

I can taste the bile now.
and I grow sick
Of this grotesque scene before me.

And now there's this corpse in my bed,
It just wont leave me alone.
I cant get away from it,
This ghost i see torments me in dreams.
What have I done?