One, two-You likely fell, more likely jumped, from the sixth floor of a building across the train station on a Sunday or Monday…sometime when the desolation of the cityscape was pronounced.
Three, four-Standing engulfed by the gray unforgiving block masses of concrete high-rises thoughts keep drifting to YOU.
One, two, three, four, five, six….S-T-O-P.What are you doing to yourself? Oh, Sorrow, I can’t bear the thought. One,two, three, four….
My lips moving uttering, “Yes she died”- as the chorus of monotone onlookers drift onwards… unrelenting and weakening the desperate fading murmur of that I long to hear
Y-O-U with all your beauty and tortured soul.
Life so hollow NOW.One, three, five…..
The pain of death, of losing you to Mental Illness, my steady companion now. Six!!!!
tpickblog.wordpress.com 