An ocean of leaves refuse to catch me as I drown,
Offering scratches from branches as I settle down,
And, of course, my final view would have a dark patch of clouds,
That don't even have the decency to shed a raindrop for me now.

The wind at my back passes so fast as if attempting to ignore me,
Not even a bird whistles a cheer as I plummet towards the street,
My shoes, my wallet and my keys abandon me and flee,
As if to make it easier for gravity to take me.

Optimistically, at least I won't hear any annoying sirens,
No people to act like I'll be ok, no false promises,
Just a bed of concrete for a body to lie and sleep,
And while the world turns away, at least the asphalt will hold me.

And I know I deserve this, this was destined, this was written,
From those final words left carelessly on a note in the kitchen.