A joking jest, a hollow mess

A joking jest, a hollow mess

Upon his wrist the kitchen knife rests

A frozen moment to make good his promise that stagnates the air with self loathing, a haste to retreat from begging brink the ideal to bring about peace with a single swipe from right to left

Comic flash furies deep and fast into potential of a nature so very different from that original thought, masking the intended act of a mind unbalanced with easy flicks of fury to calm, life and death

“They might notice”

“Questions would be asked

“Calling 999 would be a bitch”

“What would the neighbours say!”

Reasons etched in corrupted rationale to on a pin turn the path from ditch to self observed fall, collapse another bridge to warm night’s relentless cold, little regard for morning’s cost

Another blink survived makes the tally all to nil, one goal to the other side spells conclusion to the game best left off record, commonality and benign words carried to play off the hint

Damn the world, damn the bitch, damn them all

First damn deserved, second damn not, third damn to be determined

First damn a knife, second damn a wrist, third damn a smile to part the game

Never to be the option

Or at least not yet!



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