He exists because he must.
What doesn’t kill, makes him weaker.
Pieced together by broken dreams.
Trying to move on.
Rocking past, slowly it comes to a calm.
The deathly stillness resides in the air now.
Waiting. Walking down the path of the yellow bumped lane.
Sweaty skin, pores opened, ears plunged, mind jumbled.
Haunted by the dream of forsaken soldiers.
Wasted away to nothing after tireless fighting.
Nothing left of but the nothing that is.
Calmness lays waste as the air buzzes again.
Dripping, angry, alone, hurt, starved, ached, and pained.
The calm says it. The calm knows it.
Jump. Jump toward oblivion.
Standing waiting to hear the oncoming rush.
Drop. Drop toward oblivion.
Rushing to keep time as wind sears the loneliness of skin.
Crash. Crash as nothingness as impacts burst the mind’s heart.