In which paper did my story came out, Angel of Mercy?

A dead body lies inside the drain,

scornfully looked on
by the curious crowd.
A policeman arrests the killer,
snatching the gun he holds.

*****

They say after a while,
a moment of time
when you stay inert
while the world moves,
the magic will be gone.

So, there I sat
observing deeply
the calming waters
of Cuomo River.

I washed my filthy hands.
Again and again.
They appeared clean after a while
(but) i kept on washing nevertheless.
Perhaps it was my OCD.
It's getting worse.

I'm sorry, Anna.
It's probably too late, i know.
Things now get beautifully ugly.
An oxymoron
of an effing romance-thriller drama.

I'm sorry I pulled the trigger, Chekhov.
The trigger of your own gun.
An irony, don't you think?

Deserved it, don't you?
The price for trying to betray me
like consuming Soylent Green
while aware of its contents.

I had to make the first move.
Torre Attack might be my leap of faith.
But lucky me, your credentials spoke mutely.
And I jumped and landed successfully.

As for you, Anna, my love.
You, too, shredded me apart.
People change.
You have changed.

Or rather, you have changed me.
From a piece of colourful circus poster
to a dour-looking, black-and-white everyday newspaper.

But I'm letting you go.
Because that is what you crave for.
And perhaps someday, .....I don't know.
Perhaps someday I'll mutually feel the same.
Though my OCD might have its own way.

As they say,
after a while, the magic will be gone.
Mine's not.
But it is waning.
And I seek more than a momentary fix.

They have arrived.

Chekhov's body lies inside the drain,
scornfully looked on
by the curious crowd.
A policeman arrests me,
snatching the gun I hold.