A bell rings out.
A pitched sound that hits the eardrum
and cripples the heart.
A line of black parades the street.
The world’s colors fade away.
A black and white existence.
The vibrancy is ripped away.
And the thought that your life may never be the same
is a thought you never wanted to hit you.
But it does.
It hits you harder than anyone has ever realized.
And years have passed.
And you still cry at night
until the tears have numbed the pain in your chest
and you finally drift to sleep;
praying to whatever god there is
that you don’t wake up the next day.
Each morning
you wipe the dried tears from your face
and everyone around you
thinks you can handle anything.
No one around
would ever guess
that you comfort yourself at night
by screaming out in agony.
Screaming and crying
and blaming yourself.
Because maybe if you were good enough
your life would have gone right
and your mother wouldn’t have wanted
to end her life
so badly.
But you didn’t know
how to cope
or how to get better.
Because you missed out on lessons as a kid.
And loss has shown you the true world.
You have learned cruelty.
And death has aged you.
And this is getting older.