missing in action

I.

as I walk across the bridge

I contemplate

the seconds it would take

to tear the velvet black

   and where the shadows lie

blacker still

the city lights unable

to quite reach

the water’s edge

tear my hands away

from the metal rail

and focus on the road

steps to take

air to breathe yet

the release postponed

when I’m deserving

my hand on the door

as the blood rushes

in my ears

and pounds at my skin

desperate to be let out

my pulse quickening

the slow realisation

that my release 

is of a different kind

and I want to escape

pushed head first

into my newly dug grave

the headstone

has my name carved

the demons dance all night

on top of me

II.

next day

the early morning light

cracks through the window

down the floor

across the bed

onto my naked skin

rudely waking me

from sleep

I part my dry lips

breathing in dusty air

illuminated 

by the shaft of sun

which scratches my throat

down to my lungs

already tight

from cigarettes

my stomach

also resists me

a sharp stabbing

which I cannot control

but maybe not

from the wine

alone

in the mirror

my eyes are empty

as empty as the glass

that sits beside me

but not as much as

my absent conscience 

long departed

my mother was right

her and the rest

but I refused to listen

choosing the hard path

as always

III.

3.2 seconds

a rush of air

and then nothing

I meticulously noted