A Little Bit Different Each Time

It was a little bit different, each time he did it.

He had a high affinity for small details that created a new dementia for him, a new world not even him could comprehend well.

Being broken was his norm, even after a million pieces worth of breakages inside him, he still smiled for the world to see.

Treating people better than he treated himself, in a hell-bound quest to feel normal as society perceived it fit.

Perfection didn’t exist yet to him he perfected the art of being okay consistently!

As if every moment the voices grew stronger, in his mind.

Each breathes chocking him stronger than the last ones, in a world that was closing in on him, fast!

Hoping, praying that his problems were on the decrease as his weight was.

But what use was all these?

Of days he felt everything; it dangled on next to his torso.

On the day he finally felt nothing, he pulled the trigger.

How he was still breathing, he wondered, day after night.

The curtains, grappling gently with the cold evening breeze not to let it in, hang neatly from the rusted brown window frame.

Its distinguished laced edges, as if on a mission to fight off evening last light, barely obscured any rays that hit his rough, scaly skin.

A condition that arrived immediately after his weight issues commenced.

He was taught too well to be brave because that’s what men do!

From his view all he envisioned was a life spinning out of control to his certain 6 feet.

Without any essence of direction, he had no guiding path, reason as to why he missed the shot.

Sparing his vital organs, from the desperation, of surviving in another receiving body!

Tired to create something better of him each day, only to be tarnished the next day by a perfect society was his vantage point.

So was his last resort, aiming, firing, ridding the world of another burdening soul?

He was numb, unable to feel the sadness, the horror of being killed by self yet again.

Playing over and over, like a broken record, in his already overdosed brain.

Somehow his nights grew longer, meals got smaller, society barely took a notice,

How could it when it had been so preoccupied with itself?

Inability to hear the deepened screams, to feel the heightened pain, made him wiser.

Wiser enough to just make a difference, to do it a little bit different each time.

Not aware of his trembling right hand, firmly gripping on the handle of the Series Pistol.

Face your fears, the doctor said as he handed it to him the last time.

A warden passing by to let him know of his impending session with the mind doctor,

Stood cautiously as he raised the alarm to his colleagues,

Sure enough, he wished society had raised the alarm for him to his life colleagues,

Sure enough, his smile was to be an enough is enough

He pulled the trigger!

But men, just pause…

Too tired and confused, his whole body went numb, falling down where he was standing with his eyes firmly stretching out the horizon for possibilities!

The only thing that left the barrel was the terrifying click sound of an empty clip!

Someone should have seen him and made him realize the spinning cycle was a spiral staircase if viewed from rock bottom!
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About menjustpause

Your Averagely Depressed Guy

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