Just a Tug

[DMS]

Just a Tug

He took the means to freedom off his desk,
To no longer have to deal with faults of men.
To no longer need to jot with pen
To heal his mind of thoughts of death
To no longer have to draw a breath
To wake up just to fall again
To sleep. To be in dreamless dormancy.
To feel no more, a formless peace.
To make a mess of one’s own head all because one’s head’s a mess.

He felt his fingers wrap around the grip
A thousand different weeks come out to this.
To hold the metal to the temple on his dome.
To feel relief from fear and be as merely flesh and bone.
He knew the act was selfish, but was everything not so?

(As if it matters if you think it matters anymore.)

It’s a painless, mindless moment.
There won’t be time to process.
Just pull the lever right back
And embrace with life’s annulment.

He could return to this if he had no piece of hope.
Perhaps it would be worth it just to live and breathe the smoke?
Perhaps it didn’t matter, what’s the worth of what he’ll gain?
Why would he bother living ever, let alone if he’s in pain?

His sorrow and concern thawed to cosmic apatheticness.
Head hits desk like lead and bricks.
The red just trickled down and covered the mahogany.
The note he wrote now drenched in it, the mess would never bother him.


It only took a tug.