That Black, Starry Night

That Black, Starry Night

in mid-July, will always

stick with me. The air

was thick and humid from

the afternoon rain.

The stars shone overhead,

twinkling, each lightyears

away, yet seemingly so close.

The grass in the field a few

blocks from my house was damp,

radiating life into the wet, humid air

The trees rustled as a warm wind

blew in, waking up the birds who

roosted within the tree’s warm grasps.

Cars slowly creeped by, illuminating the

street adjacent to the field with their bright,

glowing eyes, only for a few moments before

the dark abyss swallowed the light back up.

And then there was me, lying flat on my back,

my brain offline to repair damages it caused.

The prescription pills and alcohol raced for

who would kill me first. The blood seeping

from my flesh fed the earth and grass like a

river feeds an ocean.

 

Nobody knew I was there, dying

as people slept or watched television,

as the Black, Starry Night overtook me.

Not a single soul knew the pain I inflicted

upon my weary bones, not a single soul

knew the pain my brain was in as it

desperately tried to fix it’s home while

it went up in a fiery blaze of chaos and

confusion, like a child stuck on the top

floor of a burning skyscraper, unable to

quench the flames and save itself.

As the night receded and the sun’s crisp

morning glow came upon my form, my

brain finally put out the flames, awoke my

body, and came back online when, deep

down, it didn’t want to. Not a single person

noticed when I shulked down the road and

climbed back into my house. As I rested my

head upon my pillows and wrapped myself

in a cocoon of blankets, my brain tattooed

that Black, Starry Night into my eyelids,

so whenever I slept or closed my eyes, I

always saw how close I was to finally dying,

to finally ending the pain and aches that echoed

through my husk of a body, the bastard known

as my brain, and the pain I’ve inflicted on others.

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