Suicide

His head filled with light then darkness. The Ocean breeze engulfed him. He sucked in the moist salty air. He cleared his head, chasing away the darkness And its waiting beast. He was in too deep. He had allowed his thoughts to grow into a monster. One with a demanding, insatiable appetite. One he was too weak to deny. He had forsaken everything dissent to feed the monster. He had allowed them to feed it. To grow into the monster it was today. One he would never be free of. One they would never allow him to escape. Tears welled in his eyes, then spilled over. Tears of self-pity. Of a pathetic, lost soul. Of a man who had nowhere to turn, Who knew that only hell awaited him. The darkness, its unholy creature, spoke to him. It soothed and cajoled him though he heard the Edge of desperation in its plea. A giggle slipped past his lips, high and girlish. He could do anything. He could do this! He released the rail and straightened. Lifting his arms, he fell forward. For a split second he imagined himself flying, His arms becoming wings, Imagined the ocean breeze catching under those wings And carrying him away. Far away from this moment and himself. From his sickness and the creature who had fed it. In the next second, He imagined nothing at all.