TW: Suicide, depression, guns
Today was the day.
He knew it from the second he woke up.
Today was the day he would end it all.
Wipe a dark stain off the white shirt of the earth.
He had been planning it for a while now.
Never had he wanted anything more
Then to just go to sleep
And bathe in the darkness
And never wake up.
Every second,
Every minute,
Every hour, day, month,
Every long, hard year of his life,
Had led up to today.
He knew it would come,
And at first he tried to prevent it,
But then he gave in
And wanted it to come sooner.
As the night progressed,
He grew more certain.
This is what he wanted to do.
With tears in his eyes,
He laid down in bed,
And held a gun to his head.
"On the count of three,"
He said, drowning in his tears.
"One, two--"
A thunder rang out
And awakened the block.
He lied to himself about three.
And there he lay,
Bloody in bed,
With a hole now in his head.
He cried still,
Staring at the ceiling,
And realized he could never escape.
