The crescent moon
throws it’s moonlight at me,
as I lay under the bridge
amidst rocks, stones,
and my own blood;
soaking it all in my heart,
but couldn’t ease the pain,
Maybe because I’m 1500 feet too late,
As I lay there in pain,
as I lay there dying.
I stand on the bridge,
accepting my defeat
in a match I haven’t played;
in a race I didn’t run;
in a life I didn’t even complete.
Sure in the steps from my car to the bridge
I stumbled; I shivered; I stumped.
But my guilt overpowered everything
and I jumped.
A 100 feet,
Cannot feel my weight,
but can deeply feel
the weight inside of my heart
that has already dragged me,
a 100 feet apart.
a 1000 to go.
That’s when flashbacks splash on my face,
collecting the remaining bits of conscience
left inside of my heart’s inside
after I’ve already committed such a cowardice;
after I’ve already committed suicide.
Flashbacks, terrible flashbacks
about how I failed no matter how many strives,
how I treat myself with everyday pills and knives,
how everything was falling apart in my first or maybe last of 7 lives.
500 feet reassured me
that this is a right thing happening,
to free my mother from her everyday source of blames,
to free my father from his reason to be ashamed,
to free my sister from her social image’s permanent stain,
to free my life from this pathetic body,
who failed every challenge,
lost every game.
dragging me 500 feet from before,
with twice the speed from before.
I can feel the end being near,
I can sense the rocks rushing towards me,
with their sides and edges
staring at my face,
waiting to slice it, bruise it, crush it.
something even more painful than this,
pierces it’s way in my heart,
like a bullet from a gun.
aren’t you the cruel one?
I realise that till now where I thought the problem lied,
was where the solution hidden;
it was I,
all the solutions who could’ve written.
My mother fought all those blames
because I was a part of her whom she believed in
to prove everyone wrong in the kin.
It was I who could’ve taken
my dad’s head from hanging low to high,
& make him so proud that’d make him cry.
Could’ve made my sister proud,
by actually being a sibling she’d look upto,
rather than a sibling she’d look up for.
Could’ve apparently been a bit less hard on my body;
the body who healed me and my pains everytime I ran blades and knives through it;
the body that saved me after how many times with self harm I screw it;
All this while my life was a wrong picture,
But I was the one who drew it.
Many tears in my heart,
couldn’t reach the eye
and as I lay under the sky,
the crescent moon is gone,
and so is my last breathe.
I lay under the bridge,
amidst rocks, stones
and my blood that has all dried,
Alas, I’m 1500 feet too late,