So I'm staring out the living room window, suspended 2 stories above, but I only see emptiness, and not the yonder horizon in which my higher elevation supposedly allows.

The rain pours and drowns any remaining happiness or hopes of such in my heart, my lonely heart. I see the clouds, bright red of the falling sun sinking in the heavens. And I wonder, if I ever go down, will I ever be like thee, live to rise again the next morning?

Often I stare, to gaze at the open sky outside my window, only to see no hopes, no hopes of even wishing I can survive, survive without suffocating my past and to start anew. What I see, no one else could, though the outward appearances of such sight are the same, the hold one differing property:

"The graveyards in my vision mirrors the pain of my flawed desires"

Oh, how I long to have it end, and sadly, know that I can do it myself if it comes to be, - with a conscious jump.