Blackbirds Poem by Christopher P. P. White

The blackbirds have nested near my window.
All I see when my eyes meet the morning
Are these birds and their black feathers.
They remind me of death;
Maybe it's just the colour in their wings
Or maybe it's something else,
Something hidden in their songs.
I listen for a word in a note but nothing ever comes,
Only that false sense of hope that I wake with every
Morning.
I've started to drink half empty cups of coffee
Because I hate orange juice so much.
It seems so optimistic and content in its glass.
Not surly and miserable and black.
I watch the news to feel wholesome and to give
Myself a reason not to doubt but there is far too
Much dereliction in people's minds
That they are so free from conscience and kindness
To look compassion and empathy in the eye.

I can't seem to shake the drowning.
Falling below the surface daily,
Bringing my eye line above the waves
But struggling to catch my breath
As the fluid is already a part of me and my lungs.
All of these metaphors sounded better in my head
But maybe they'll look better on
The crumpled paper that will shortly be next to me,
Lying parallel to my still hand.
For now please take them as they are.
The honest truth is that my life,
Filled with routine and monotony
And abundant loneliness is waning.
Tinkering with the infinite grapple of an eternity
Is tiring,
Even when all you do is lie on an empty bed,
With empty dreams and half-empty cups
Of that surly, miserable, black coffee.
Ending it is the only comforting thought.
I'll probably keep my options
Open but leave my choices locked up
Where my free-will shall never find them.

I wish not to disclose my identity to the masses
Or to ever tell those closest how I feel.
I just need to tell somebody—
You.
Because you're the only one who'll ever read this.
Suicide is painless so here it goes,
Unless it goes wrong.
So I'll do it right,
With the right tools.
I'll use the greatest method there is;
Get your heart broken
And watch your time run out on its own accord.
Luckily for me I'm halfway there.
I'm lying here at dawn and the blackbirds have gone
And the silence has fallen.
There are no songs anymore,
Only serenity.
I hope God doesn't exist because he's going to be pissed.