Flatlining.

His brows are furrowed in a worried crease

Whilst pacing at random with plagueing dis ease .

Each breath breathed is ragged and shakily took

And trust, like his breathing, is equally shook.

His mind's thoughts are whirling at random direction

Both eyes in confusion, glaze dim in reflection.

Wringing hands twist their own sweaty knuckles

Until crooked knees unexpectedly buckle.

Now arched in a posture of crumpled fatigue

His sweaty palms fold en suit of bent knee.

Now here, as he bends, deeper into his own

He prostrates himself in this room all alone.

"So broken." he sobs, as his cheek touches floor

"I see no way forward. No life to live for."

There, straight as an arrow, his body lay prone

But sharp, jagged thoughts weighed heavy like stone.

"My life," he admits, "has become convoluted.

"My purpose and dreams have all been polluted."

With uneven breaths, he suddenly cries

"I am lost in this maze. Take my life, lest I die!"

It was in that instant, his life fell away

Like a beeping flat line, that sealed off all frays.

No broken, or crooked, entangled restraints

Like pressure washed walls, removing chipped paint.

Relinguishing sobs, giving in to their heaves

He lifts up his head, and returns to bent knees.

"Here, I am born. Here, I'm made new."

For in that moment, his death made this true.