The Angels Are Crying

A short, dark poem by Tuxedo Jack

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The angels are crying.
Not for me, no.
Not for me, no.
They cry for things we cannot see.

I lie there, life ebbing away,
a slight numbness creeping through my body.
And I look down, and I see myself.
A single tear drops next to me, and
a tear shatters the tile I lie on.
And I smile, knowing that the angels are crying.
But it's not for me.
It's not for me.

Redness blurs the edges of my vision, and
I begin to see the truth.
I lift my head, and through the haze,
I see the red tiles -

- red? They were white but a moment ago...

And I see the jar on the counter.
Empty, of course.
And I smile, only now realizing it.
Another tear falls, transforming the red to
white. I awe at it, I wonder... and
then I know.

I lie back and rest, knowing now what
I've done.
A third tear falls...
And as I fade, the life leaving me,
I rest.
The tears continue, washing away the red...

And then the door is shattered,
and my parents shut off the shower.
One last tear falls, in time with my last
breath...

The angels are crying.
But not for me.
But not for me.

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AUTHOR'S NOTES

Jeez, this is dark. This came out of an argument with my parents, and I wrote it in
my sketchbook, and I later typed this up. What the hell was I thinking? I have no 
idea.

Anyways, MSMT3K is on track. I'm going a little slower, cause it's the end of my
senior year in high school, and I have to be a whole lot more careful of what I do
on the school computer network... jeez, you hack for them a year and then they accuse
you of a federal crime... jackasses.

Ja ne, minna-san!

Tuxedo Jack
TuxedoJack@juno.com

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