Weary to the bone, I trudged up the stairs, dragging myself up
To the place I knew it would all end,
To the place I knew it would all cease to matter anymore.
Standing by the ledge, taking a glance at what lies below,
The cool breeze welcomes me with open arms;
Its gentle fingers stroking my cheeks,
Calming my already on-overdrive nerves.
Puffing on the cigarette that often kept me company,
I watched as the smoke I exhaled mingled with the air,
Copulating in my presence, dissipating into nothingness after contact.
I fleetingly wonder if that was what happened
When I was conceived –
Did my soul dissipated the moment it realised
it would belong to this body?
Looking down once again, I now take in the sight that is me –
The ugliness of my being never once not left me feeling awfully nauseated.
Disgusted, both with my creator and at its abominating creation that was me,
I climbed onto the ledge, wanting to put a stop to this ugly mess.
Leaping, the last thing I felt was the gentle fingers of the breeze on my cheeks
And I wondered,
Why didn’t I ever knew such gentleness before.
The reflection that greets me never made me happy,
For the sight before my eyes were often too ugly.
Yet it wasn’t the physical looks that made my stomach churn,
It was the pitch black that I could see within that continuously made me turn.