toes frosted as the wind chill blows,

Levi Jeans cuffed, wet just beyond calve,

eyes staring at a dark, restless and stirring place,

and in his mind,

thinks,

it can't hurt,

soft, wet and cold,

"But at my age, fuck, man fuck!"

a tear fights it's way from the "ear-cornered side",

of a twitching and "not of this world,

wild and dreary eye,

"Man what the fuck! Man this ain't worth a fuck!"

"It's my fault,"

"I fucked their lives up!"

with a swan-like flap

grace and all it's beauty,

flannel shirt unbuttoned,

knowing this will be his last,

road trip, journey,

 

And with the strife in his voice before he dove,

two-hundred or more feet to his slushy tomb,

not a word muttered,

at that moment he was free,

of the misery,

he had taken responsibility for,

 

Smiling life flashing before him in black

and white images,

only smiles of those he hurt,

sounds of laughter to kill the burning,

inside,

 

that he had hashed away,

deep down,

beneath the front,

of a man who wasn't bothered,

showed no emotion,

 

Even during the fateful jump!