Through the Eyes of a Future Count: Part I

There is no light
that I can see.
The darkness has slowly
swallowed me.

My hand in front of my face
is an impossible vision.
My life has crumbled at my feet,
and only the paper will listen.

Here I sit on a cold brick floor
hoping, soon, to breathe no more.
My shirt's my only weapon in tow,
toward the light may my soul go.

Gulping, blue-faced,
and chickening out.
Before I know it,
my thoughts swim in doubt.

The phrase written on the wall
is the only hope I have,
and it goes away as, soon,
my vision goes black.

I let go of my filthy shirt,
also letting go of the hurt.
Gulping in error of my ways
I sit alone for 150 days.