If the world could be ever more cruel, It'll take another life from me. So far it has taken 5. 4 are mental, 3 took their lives and 2 are closest to me 1 is lonely. but 0 is lonelier.
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For many years, I took his calls while he sat on rooftop edges. Calls kept him occupied with complaining. Always on about himself and how a certain pill could aid his issues. His scars looked like mine, but on his arms. I could tell what kind from the way the skin splits and heals. How sometimes the flesh only comes out after it stops bleeding and how it left a reminder of being a failure.
I've seen him roll through hospitals' emergency wards, where they make you wear ugly uniform dresses, attach you to machines, and drip fluids throughout your bloodstream. Though he'd still casually yanked them out to go on smoke breaks no matter what the situation was. I only came to visit and checked up on him once as the clinical stench gave me panic attacks. It gets glued to me, and all over the cream and musty blue bedding. He was fine with the weird sterilization smell. But can never sleep with the nurses around or with the voices in his head, echoing along to the beep of his very fast heart.
Today I saw him again in a different bed. Wooden. Somewhat small but manageable. He wore a white collared button-up and long black pants that had sadly covered his newly done tattoos. His wavy hair was done up nice and neatly waxed. His plunging acne holes were covered up, smooth like a ken's doll, even his eyelashes and brows seemed a lot bolder yet, I couldn't tell if he fell asleep upset about it.
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Surely sensing our presence, his body still lay there glamorously and motionless. Unable to see his enemies right beside him, Unable to smell the sweet flowers from his girl, Unable to hear his father's speech or feel our tears of confusion, guilt and grief.
I knew he'd been waiting for this day to come eventually. Finally free from this cruel world.
I'd be happy if you've found your peace. But then again, I'll never know. Till we meet again 🥀
