𝓉𝑜 blue skies

𝓉𝑜 𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘦 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘦𝘴

to Blue Skies

-----

I don't know what led to my autopilot
But I at least still had the decency
to spend my last moments
with family and make it memorable
more than I ever did with
the other moments spent in my life.

Drip.
Echoes of the water being poured into the
Bath.
Cuts.
Symphonies being played chronologically
Across my arms, thighs and simply my
Mind.
All tied up and set for the casket.

Editing became a mission.
And finishing that last sentence
Became a burden.
"Don't tell anyone. Its too late-But I love
You so much"
"I'm here okay? Don't forget that."
Maybe up above.
But the last one sent.

And grey ticks made it easier
Then beating the pain of seeing you saw it.

One became two
And it is like I lost my mind
Because it just multiplied to more
than sixty in the end
Antidepressants to a whole shelf of
"This will kill you"
And that simply pushed me to
finish it all and hide it all.
How rude of me -
gotta supplement the emptiness:
An apple.

"Bye, M. I'm sorry. But do know
I love you"
My eyes shut.
And the rest shut down.
Clouded by the darkness that always
Crept in my mind anyway.
Why was I able to hear and still feel?
The screaming, the shaking and the no.
Then finally a shove of a finger down
My throat-I gasped to breathe again.

"Why did you do that ma'am? You are so
Young! There is so much for your life."
And all I did was a smile and cooperate.
I fought the tube forced through my nose
To make me vomit my escape all out-
Yet the last resort still existed-
Activated charcoal and I don't hate it,
I just hate it saved me in time.

I prayed to God to take me
And that I was so grateful for the love
given and offered so effortlessly to me
yet, I asked he helped all I loved
To grow strong and forgive me.
I'm still grateful to God,
And I know he wouldn't make me suffer
Without no reward at the end of the tunnel
But I'm hurting again,
It's enhanced like some stressor.

I'm sorry I had walked away.
But a year later:
I'm alive.
Episodes here and there.
But I still plead for the deed.
Just gotta fight the need.

I'm fine.

But.

Save me.

The antique journal turned to shut with one last entry.

A pen alongside it with tears dripping onto the cover similar to splashes of paint engraving its last artistic element behind.

Notes of sniffles filling the room along with a subtle hiccup followed by a scrape of a chair being pushed back.

Pit.

Pat.

The last echoes of footsteps echoed out and never returned ever again. Until today.