Hope World

Done

Really, he should've expected it

He should've expected it all

Every single comment seemed to aim straight at him and hit

The suppressed eye rolls; the cold realization

that nobody was willing to catch him during his fall.

The bloody bandages were sitting in his bag

They were things to hide so nobody would see

the little actions he had to do to pay the amount on his life's price tag.

He wished everything could be free

Sometimes he was free though

The feeling of cold water hitting his shoulder blades

The feeling of warm chocolate melting in his mouth

The feeling of his skin when it was run over by blades

The sight of the winter's first snow

But more often than not, he was trapped

in the poisonous throes of his mind.

Nothing that he did mattered, everything was pointless

Nobody would care about the things that he left behind

His life was a cycle of working, sleeping and eating

He couldn't do anything other than that

His hobby was laying on his bed and disassociating

Tears rolled down his face, slimy, wet and fat

He tried to convince himself

Be productive, do something, achieve things

But there was really no point

In the end, he was unable to fight the emptiness within himself

He was falling, falling too far

Was anyone even watching from afar?

Even so, he kept going

He smiled for his friends, his family, 

the people who liked his posts on social media

He memorized facts, tried to learn new things

It was okay, he would ignore the painful stings

Things were going to end soon

Whilst standing on the edge, he made a choice

The crooked screaming inside in his mind was finally in tune

He could finally be at peace; the voice

could yell as much as it wanted.

Climbing up the railing, he looked down below

Startled by the lone cry of a perched crow, 

he looked around, straining to see.

The bird was sitting on the edge as well

Its jet black eyes blending in with its dark shell

It brought to mind the phrase,

"Attention, I have a black dog!"

His mind had blended in with the fog

Nimble fingers gripping the cold metal,

he let go. 

Like a ripped flower petal, 

he fell ungracefully down. 

The only audible sound was another strangled cry from the crow.