Sea Salt and Wolves

I give up. My efforts are only clawing at a cement ceiling. I wait. I plan. For an end. When I won’t have to open my eyes anymore, When the night can’t haunt me after they’re closed. When people fail to put bullet holes into my ears and heart. Though try they will- people always speak ill of the dead. Heck, maybe they’ll even miss me. Put roses and forget-me-nots on the grumbling, overturned earth. For now, I pluck the petals. I wait. There is tranquility in darkness, but never in silence- yet, there is no shortage of noise. The world runs on noise, unfiltered as the bullets we coin in gold mint. The night comes, and I look down at the space, the depth below me. The space between me and peace. My heart aches anew. I see a flash of light fume across the polluted sky, where the moon is the only Creature who manages to survive. I recall my grandma, told me once, when the stars outshined the moon’s dusky glow, "Life is a two-sided dance, between you and The Lord, hon’. You choose between a heart beat and the world’s drumbeat." I called to The Lord, a plea, it was all I knew to do. I slid off from the edge, and mark in a book all the souls who I helped do the same.