A Suicide Poem by Hunter James

I cusp my last heroism, close to my chest. The dawn is already warm, sun paints red over Sydney harbour, this be the last day of my life. This be the end of it all, I am not depressed. I am not happy but I am not depressed, I am just living that is all, and I refuse to be held responsible for something as precious as existence. I am not worthy. I watch the morning commute over croissants and coffee. Then I will smoke my final cigarette, and plunge into the pavement as worthless as the rest of the breathing beings below. I will die weak and young. The prospect of the tears shed from ex loves and friends makes me sick. Though I hold my decision final. I will miss nothing but my croissant. I watch the cars drive across Sydney Harbour Bridge, I am hit with memory and dream, it strikes and holds heavy on my chest. I ignore this familiar chaos built clarity and wipe the crumbs of my croissant off my sweater and watch my plastic coffee cup fall 21 stories down. I light a cigarette , the last of my deck. I feel the wind behind me, I listen to the still hum of the city at dawn. I will miss my cigarette. This isn't a matter of nerves I feel no fear of jumping off this ledge. I find the idea as simple as climbing into bed. Though I let my final memory envelop me just a tad. I feel her warmth from behind, her green eyes pierce my memory. I lived a simple life, most of it anyway. I will miss the jazz of midnight, I will miss the clarity of dusk and the words of dawn. I will miss my mother and my father, they were brilliant. I wave my foot over the ledge, and with a final thought I plunge myself off the 21 story hotel. A certain swoon sweeps me and I fall in love, then I hit the bottom. Forever changing the course of existence to the civilians who witnessed this graceful act.