What Have I Done? Poem by Thomas Canttel

My room is cold.
I can't get out.
That's what I was told,
but there's no time to pout.
It is already here.
The creature is near.

I've tried to run;
I've tried to hide.
I had a gun,
but my friend still died.
There's no turning back.
Not after that.

'What have you done?
Your friend is crying.
You are my son,
and your soul is dying.'
That is what she said,
while I just lay on my bed.

Now I feel the shame,
the feelings of all the emotion.
It was only a game.
An awful, evil potion.
I was the one to antagonize.
Now I must be the one to apologize.