He watches lake water,
peering down into the closest
thing to oblivion he
can find, and pictures himself
drowning in darkness.
It was how she died,
drowning in her own darkness
until the light finally
left her eyes;
crimson blood trickling
down her arms from the fissures
she carved into her veins.
Her ashes were scattered
there, you know;
swimming was her favorite
hobby.
The empty bottle of Vicodin
is clutched tightly in
his fingers as he
stands once more.
He’s tired.
So very tired.
No one knew that he would
drown in his darkness
without her around.
His little sister.
His only light.
I only hope that he’s enjoying
himself with her,
because it’s Hell on Earth
without him
here.











