They say I am
nothing
worthless
a waste of space.

Maybe
they are right.
Maybe I am
empty space
with no cause
I am always in the way.

Maybe that is why
the silver blade
the orange bottle
the cold black barrel
the fraying braid
looks so
appealing.

Maybe that is why
I look at
the onyx waves
the jagged edge
the open window
the flickering orange tongues
and feel compelled to move
closer.

The face in the glass
is but
a skeleton
a ghost
a shadow
the empty shell of who
I used to be.

I will greet
the darkness
as an old friend,
arms stretched
wide and warm

I will
take the silver in my hand
the orange bottle
the cold metal
the fraying braid.

I will meet the call
of the
onyx waves
the jagged edge
the open window
the flickering orange tongues.

I walk towards Death,
I reach out to grab his hand,
I enter the shadows,
I
DISAPPEAR.