【5 Milligrams】

It’s going to be the Fourth of July.
Ten minutes till the sky ignites
And no one knows my plan of flight.
The final blaze before the light.

Champagne spills in other rooms
While I make peace with letting loose.
What an emotional incline,
To be on this strange form of cloud nine.
My heart beats low,
While the city hums joy I’ll never know.

I toast to my future, an eight-page file with the stamp: “CASE CLOSED”
My portrait on the cover, my cowardice exposed.
My wrist hums with nervous energy,
As the seventh minute ticks with urgency,
Eager to shed me and my six regrets that hold me tight
Like velvet ropes in a grotesque light.
The show is done, my mask is cracked,
The curtains will fall, and I won’t come back.

Five pills crunch under my molars, reeling,
Each giving a sweet, almost sick sober feeling.
Choking down four swigs of something sharp,
The substance making my eyes go dark,
To blur the seams and numb my scars.
The sloshing sound retreats like a dreamer’s final plea,
As the countdown nears three.
My two hands grip the rooftop rail, trembling.
Too young. Too frail.
The city starts to count, all bright and so proud,
While the ledge starts to cry out.

With one last second, it gives way.
I don’t retreat from the edge, just the life I know.
The lights all wink, and I give my final blink.
The aerial flowers erupt, a phenomenon so abrupt.
Then the year begins without a sound
And I become the space around.