In my poem, I'll grasp the handlebar with sweat-drenched palms
& unfocused eyeballs as they blur through the evening spectacle.
I'll clench death at the knot of my fingers,
& the grease oozing out from me like life itself.

The door creaks covertly, as I focus on the evening grey,
my face sliding into the shadows, unmetered and unseen.
No solace can be found at this moment,
neither can Papa's gentle smile cradle me in hope.

I'll climb onto the bridge rail, watching as people
are sliced into silence, emptied onto the deserted bridge road.
The water's blackness beckons me,
and I'll answer with my legs, climbing,
assisted by some unseen force.

I'll dissolve this fleeting hope and sink into that blackness,
where consciousness dissolves into nothingness.

~Mikelson