A man with a jet black tux
And hair combed over his bald spot
Stands in front of a window
The white curtains blowing inwards
Relinquishing all efforts
To love, and be loved
He clears his throat
And spits
Down into the gritty abyss
Whistling through the thick
Polluted air
As it descends slowly
Into the Bottom of its inevitable Faith
And somehow
Through the deafening silence
You can hear its existence shatter
As it hits the bare pavement
One can only wonder
What he's leaving behind;
Children, memories
Tea brewing on the stove
*Would you dare save a man?
From jumping out and into the arms
Of his concrete destiny*