A mother destroys, father retreats. The child, distressed, broken entirely.

Growing with no one to lead, nothing is clear.
Anything resembling masculinity drawing him near.

Mental anguish cages as wounds fester unattended.

Unhealthy reactions develop, afflictions a constant reminder, like arthritic pain of the elderly.

Evil soon consumes, grinding down in the blasphemy machine. The space between bones widens until the skin bursts, and what spills out is uncertainty.

A life damned to misery. So sink, splintered thing, and wallow in self defeat.

Existential nihilism, no color, art viewed in the blandness of black and white. Seeking out distractions to pull away from introspection.

Feet shamble toward the rusted bridge overlooking the highway far beneath. Desperate feelings creep in, reminding that if it ever became too heavy, all it would take would be a simple leap, sending him soaring down to the streets.

He rationalizes the end, for there is no purpose in life.

To continue on would be treachery; surely the Creator would not be so cruel, so unforgiving.

The lie continues on repeat, suffocating the notion that healing might be a possibility.

Teeth clenched, eyes closed, he tilts forward, ready to plummet. He is crying now, the night air cool against his skin.

An image, serene, fills a tormented mind.
The Nazarene walks upon the waters, robe trailing behind.

Aura of mercy, grace beyond understanding.
Words catch in the man’s throat that were meant to be accusatory.

Captivating gaze, love without measure.
An understanding that Christ views broken hearts as beautiful treasure.

Hand held, the notion of suicide left behind.

This is not the end.