Frog

I am killing a man
you don't know.
So please,
let me explain.

I am prying his fingers
from the railing
of a bridge
just to watch him
fall.

Want to know
what it's like?

I'll tell you anyway.

It is akin
to aiming for the frogs
committing suicide
in the rain
when they jump
onto the road
to save themselves
from drowning
in the fields.

Some people say
there is one
whole world
in each of us.
Which means
I killed
an entire reality
just now.

Oh well.
One less life
full of dreams
and bullshit.
One less world
full of people
he didn't care to meet.

I look up
at the moon
and smile
as he goes with gravity
toward a river
buried in darkness.

I did not speak
to my victim
before he fell,
and only the wind
will whisper
any consolations
to him now.

It's better this way.
There was nothing
left for him to do
or live up to anyway.

I can say this
because I knew him
pretty well.

I knew his mother.
She was a kind woman,
but too far away.
Not to touch,
but to feel.

She didn't live with him.
She lived with fear.
She lived with hate.

The father
had convinced her
that fear
looked good on her,
and for a while
she believed him.
When she stopped believing
he beat her to death.

I remember him
pummeling her
screaming face
into gore,
into silence,
into nothing.

He's about halfway down now.

As I watch my victim
become more
and more
allergic to gravity,
my memory conjures up
his ex-lover's presence.

Truth be told,
she was more
like an addiction
with long legs
and a naked space
to fill.

For a time
she laid with him
in her bed.
Then one day,
she laid him
to waste
for a better man.

Almost to the bottom.

I suppose he was a child,
but I barely knew him then.

I know he was full of mischief
and branded by poverty.

His face was dark
and his eyes were green.

He was filled with loathing
because the world
was like a museum to him.
chock full of beauty
he wasn't allowed
to touch,
realize,
or own.  

His body was scarred and lean.
He was full of all kinds
of potential
and raw
with every childish grace.

He tended to be wicked,
so he knew what it took
to be good.

But he didn't belong to anyone,
including himself.

He spent his days as a wraith
haunting his own mind.

He fell prey
to being melodramatic
whenever he wasn't brave enough
to admit he was just afraid.

And now he is a liar
who is finally
telling the truth:

I open my eyes
as a hurricane wind
roars past

My body is numb and failing

I scream
from my guts
from my bones
for my soul

The water snaps at me
My heart explodes
The moon's reflection
is coming

I am crying
I am dying
I am stupid
I am alive

I am