Impetus Corroboration

A second half of one of the longer-standing friendships
sent me a screenshot of the building he plans to jump from

If a cry for help, it is one neither he nor I believes
in. He always has stood out as masterful in delivery

of his storytelling. He may have peered beyond
the veil for a bit too long - what seen, branded into

the web of his consciousness. I too, have gazed
right past the limit of which happens to be an allowance

of none. Loss of memory is the closest occurrence to
turning back time and is the only feasible of the two.

Experience, beliefs, programming, the hill you will die on
cannot be undone, but will become translucently distanced.

On the phone, discontent expels from tone alone ‘thanks,
for texting me visual details of your plan to exit the scene.’

Response - ‘well, I’m detailing it to you on the 
phone now.’ followed by a crack of a laugh. I cannot

help but to join in then curdle into a sigh. How 
nauseating to recognize the efforts I expend to stay away

from just the place: a location I have vacationed to a time
or three - we all know how hard they are to leave.

Even a close friend is but another person beholden to their
own choices. I respect yours as yours but desire to not be

haunted by you if you choose to make this one your last.
How psychedelic - to choose the end of choice, 

because you believe you already no longer have one.
To then restore it for a last time to make sure of no return.

Do you see? Reasons shift in validity, moment-to-moment.
Your grave is but a fraction of its complete size. You would

not fit, more digging. This. To the one who is hysterical, 
fierce, authentic, true to himself and who knows intimately 

of not only self-betrayal,
but of conquering.