Another night for plight
I watched the cars pass by infront of me. Sitting on a bench on the sidewalk, the air grew humid and the cacaphony of honking started to pollute the air as the shops started to close and the many working men and women started to head home.
I saw a crow with another crow, they were circling the sky before landing on a rooftop of a building not far from where I was sitting. I felt so confined inside my human body and wished that I could fly like those crows, together with all the other birds that had wings. I felt so low and the setting sun just pictured a perfect manifestation of my fleeting sense of joy. When the cars had all but cleared, only my shadow was left to accompany me.
I wanted to give up and just let my life float so dreadfully into the hands of the grim reaper. The skies darken and I am drenched into the constant plain of shadows that plays in my mind. I have no home to go to, because there is no place that brings me comfort. There is no friend to go to, not because I have no friends that care, but because it just seems so helpless. I feel like ice cream melting in the light, and in the dark I am unseen.
The air echoed with a voice that only I could hear. But what use would it be, if nobody else could hear or understand? I was just another person destined for the house of psychiatry, where people lived in a world of misunderstanding, loneliness and a fusion of fake happiness and awaiting death.
I wished I could do more than just weep. But which was the more cowardice: not able to take your own life or unable to face reality? A common question among suicidal persons and also one that always lies fresh in my mind.
Alas, when I cried on that bench - throught the night and all alone:
"I think I cry
Because when I speak
It makes no sense
They don't understand
That it's not my words
But my emotions
That they are not getting
They just can't listen
They just don't know
So in the end, decided
Not to listen
Oh, why do I even think they care...?"
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