Standing on the ledge writing this letter goodbye, to whoever finds me this is my suicide note;
Whiskey tasting ink splashes across this page, smudging over the words that I wrote.
The sun is shining, but inside my heart all I feel are clouds of grey;
Tiny people walking down there on the street,
Silently going about their day.
Toy sized cars roll past, mixing in with the hustling sound drifting up from the street;
Underneath my soles is nothing but air, apart from this little stony ledge now supporting my feet.
This is Mr Johnson, apartment 312 on the 19th floor;
If the police need to investigate why, it’s because I have no Wife, no family, I have nothing left to live for.
What’s the point in all this Christmas spirit, and all this Christmas cheer;
I am tired of sitting alone in the darkness, when my life is no longer here.
It’s been 3 weeks since she passed away, the heartbreak only got worse, the pain never did subside;
After losing her battle with cancer, she laid in my arms one morning and died.
Small crowds of people start to look up pointing towards me, but they didn’t seem that concerned when they saw me yesterday crying in the rain;
As another tear falls off this ledge, another lost memory disappears down the drain.
Blue flashing lights enter the world beneath my feet, as the air around me starts to feel so cold;
So I guess on this day I was always destined to die, I was never destined to grow old.
The whispering wind is pushing me to jump, as my trembling feet move me a step closer towards the sky;
Screams echo up from the streets, as I have finished writing my goodbye_____________________________
BARRY MOWLES ©2011