Work Text:
Lingering touches on a locker
and the muscle memory of a number
you'll only have to remember a couple more times.
Flipping through notebooks
full of information
that'll never get memorized.
Everything being stripped away
so quickly and quietly,
and no one knew.
He stood on the cusp of his own black hole,
and wasn't it beautiful?
The teacher kept looking at him funnily
all through history.
Michael wondered if he knew,
somehow.
No one really noticed his silence.
Good thing because
he didn't have the energy to lie.
Everyone said goodbye
hastily and hurriedly
barely looking back at him.
The things you notice on your last day.
He walked home without looking both ways.
The streets were empty
but he wouldn't have cared if they weren't.
He wiped the tears off with his shirt
and breathed in and out
in and out
and it was fine.
He was dying,
but he was fine.
There was nothing left for him.
Everything was said and done.
It was just pills.
Just powder.
one, two, seven, nine, sixteen,
and he was already gone.
Another, though, and another,
and he lay frozen,
losing consciousness on the bathroom floor
Acid burned hot and dry in his throat,
but the dark spots that danced
in his clouded vision
were beautiful.
And he was finally,
truly escaping.
Now all that was left
was the waiting for it to hit
and for him to sleep.
The cold tiles were not a nice pillow
but at least it was something.
It was as close to peace as he could get.
His brain was screaming.
Then, the blackness.
He started counting from zero.