Overpass.

My breath lingers and swirls, like the steam that rises from the city streets. A siren sends a cold shudder down my spine, springing my legs into forward motion; I can see my shadow cast by the dim light burning in a rusty barrel, sending old news into the heavens like dying fireflies. My jeans are tattered and worn—just like me…I press the bottle to my mouth and drain the rest of its contents, letting the fluid warm my insides. I chuck the empty glass idol under the overpass, hearing it shatter against my cold, hard, unforgiving bedding. I am tormented by demons in the shapes of memories, failures, and dying opportunities; the vicious cycle has me and I am lost inside its symmetry. I exhale into my shaking hands, contemplating praying to a God who does not listen. I bite into the bagel I was given—pain hits like a sucker-punch; the hard crust hurts my teeth and I chuck my dinner with disdain. My coat, my shirt, my life is falling apart at the seams. I sort through my plastic trash bag of possessions and pull out the bible they gave me at the Mission. I page through the lies and remember how real God was to me…and how easily I was forgotten. I remove my box cutter, lying silent and still near the end of Psalms. I hold the cold piece of metal in my palm, looking upward, whispering to no one, “I do not belong here…" My wrist becomes a living cutting board, saturating my “sharper than any double-edge sword," dividing my soul and spirit to other sides of the river; my blood pays the price my body can’t afford. I curl up and hug my knees, trying to get warm, crying and shaking and finally, praying, “Please forgive me; take me away from here." The last thing my eyes see is the silver sliver of the moon above me, as if God shed a tear just for me. “Finally…"