The Final Log of a Broken Samaritan

And as the final droplets fell upon my face I began to drift off into the eternal sleep
All around that familiar sound of rain hitting city pavements, filling the drains that I see from this level with a peculiar focus
Laying on my side, one ear was drowned in the puddle I had collapsed into and echoed, lapping waves was all I could hear in it
And through the other, footsteps of all those who trudged on by without a care in the world, the occasional splash of residue which came off the black soles of their shoes reminding me that they were ignoring the state I was in. Rubbing salt into these stinging wounds 
I had stopped shaking by now, the worst bit was over
Now I was at the close and waiting for it; when my eyes could close and stay so, and no longer see the things I had before
Those brutal, sickening and twisted images I wish I could avoid remembering
But you don't escape things like that
Always vivid, and always having the same effect as the day you first experienced them 
The dying child, the dying child
I ask myself every day, 'could I have saved him ?'
Answers change with the mood I'm in
But it's usually...yes
And I regret those days
Not that I'll have to worry about that anymore 
But not like I'll see him up above either
I'm going straight down.