I’m behind the parapet looking over into the endless.
I bet she’s sleeping soundly at this very moment; wrapped or held and beyond the stars.
I feel the chasm call to me. It whispers sweet nothings and promises salvation.
I bet she is or will be loved.
So I leap.
I am pressing on into something better I hope
Life is short and I'll be unable to witness any fruits
But maybe for a brief moment there will be no labor
And I can breathe in deeply a calming stillness
I never notice when the weight is lifted
But I do know when it drops
A crushing force to my porous corpse
All my insides are flattened and I can see myself from the sky
I keep expecting my whole life to be laid out
So I can catalogue the backlog of reasons to not exist
I will make assertions about my character that I struggle to shake
Like black cats in ant hills
My ears ringing deaf to self validation and grace
My body torn asunder under the pressure of empty standards
How Hope Was Lost 