He ran towards the window but before he could take the two steps to jump, it flashed through his mind. He could see his body slamming into the glass, the glass shredding his skin and metal twisting into his eye. He was to be blinded and still slipping into darkness, still falling. He could see a blood red sky as he turned his back towards the ground and screamed, the scream was cut, and the fence was red, as red as he saw the sky. Color faded to darkness.

He snapped out of the thought but it was too late, he tried to brace himself from hitting the window, but with his arms stretched out it shattered the glass shredding his skin, his left hand snapped upon bending metal, he saw the bar and closed his eye, and screamed as cold steel ran through his skull. His body turned to the right after the metal ran through his skull, when he did this the metal slid out as it was still attached to the window frame. He opened his working eye to the blood red sky and screamed her name, it wasn’t because of her that he did this; it was because he was a sacrifice, a sacrifice to the faith of pain.

He wasn’t a cutter, his skin as clear as day, he wasn’t emo, for his joy filled the heart of others, he was a palm tree. He was just something others used to lean on forever bending to the wind of their emotions. He was a little mail box where everyone sent their letters of pain and joy. He was tired of it; the mail was to be blown up, the tree to snap under the brutal force of pain and sorrow. He never thought about this before, it was just now, just today, this moment that it bombarded into his head, an epiphany. He thought he was dreaming when he thought of pain, but he wasn’t. His world had just crashed over him, Atlas with Achilles heel, a star consumed by a supernova, and a boyfriend to the sweet whims of emptiness.

It only hit him now because he was 65 and he had watched his life waste away to nothing, he had no girlfriend, no wife, no daughter, nor a son to carry on the angel’s blood within him. He strove to live by the presence of others because of all his losses. Because of everything he was, he meant everything to the world, an angel, a hero, a star, a friend. He was everything but a lover. To everyone he was a falling star upon where wishes came true, he thought the same. A falling star, falling without stopping, without anything to slow it down. Flaming blue tail of fire, just as beautiful and pure as was his soul. Now his soul was tainted, he thought back to her face, the face that haunted him for 47 years.

He screamed her name, but her name was left unfinished drifting in the tainted wind. Crystal clear tears were unseen for they mingled with the red beads of blood. It covered the fence, stained it with death and murder. It wasn’t suicide, it was murder, murder of a fate upon an angels shoulders.

He was a sacrifice to bear the pain of others so they may continue to exist. Now he dreamed of the isolation of the burning desert.

Solitude’s Devastation

He stood there in the sun, the light bending in his eyes, he could see it so clearly now. This was it, it all came to this, all the pain, conclusions, and endless fighting that strove to survive in his heart and control it. This was the last time they left.

            The sun burned him to his heart, he could feel the heat, but he felt colder then a mammoth frozen in a glacier. He stood there in the desolated area the icy needles piercing him over and over. Nothing stood, breathed nor moved. A flat sunburned terrain, it made the desert an oasis. He cried, but the tears evaporated an inch before hitting the ground. Yet he felt so cold, so distant. This was his fault, this pain that froze his mind. He stepped forward and continued walking, turning the heated ground into a wave of ice behind him, the ice reflected to the sky bright enough to blind god, cool enough to make the sun die.

            It started to rain, as if god could feel his pain. Tears of heaven rained upon his broken soul. All he could do now was stand there and replay everything that happened in his life, all his pain, his mistakes… no, their pain, his mistakes. He was no longer what he thought he was all along. He’s frail body stood there drenched with rain, his tears, although water did not match that of rain, it was like he was crying ice, crying liquid shards of light. The puddle of light pooled around him then turned pitch black; he fell in it and went through the other side.

He closed his eyes and it seemed like he was falling forever, through time, space, and thoughts. No longer the angel he thought he was, his wings gone, he could no longer right himself… stop the falling. He wasn’t the kind hearted and warm person he thought he was and he wasn’t that of which most of the outside world perceived him to be. He was quite the opposite, he felt cold hearted and now he realized what he was, he was the devils gift to the world, the shit that he did to the world, friends, family… everything.

He was the angel they thought he was his white feathery wings protected them, wings that held them close and warmed their hearts. The ground began to shake beneath him, and violence rang the air, its call to arms; hate, pain, sorrow, guilt, envy… it rang like a shout from an army. Now the wings turned black and leather like, corrupted, tainted with bitter pain, a bitter heart. With the wings still folded around everyone, he had them trapped. Eyes opened beads of sweat break, and fear floods out an aura like a tsunami. Now his lids opened revealing yellow reptilian eyes, no longer a caring brown of human compassion. They flashed back to humanity and his wings turned white again for just a second, that second was all it took for him to let go of his grip on everyone, to let them be, to end it all. And now he ran for the window…

This is an endless cycle of thoughts, it's a confusion of existence, it's pain opening door to happyness and vice-versa. Clarity is no longer a word in this dictionary. "Words disappear upon these dying lips, vanishing as words of war, reappearing as acts of violence." - anonymous