Jumper

Jumper

No, it wasn’t taking flight,

It was throwing himself under

Gravity’s thousand-ton wheels.

No, it wasn’t soul-freeing,

It was a conscious choice

Of self-destruction.

No, it wasn’t inner demons,

It was concluding that not existing

Outweighed hanging around.

The difference between us was

Too small to see from Meyers Briggs

Or under the scrutiny of a lens.

We say his chemicals were imbalanced

Like we know what that means, but

We don’t.

As if we could isolate the chemicals,

Change the recipe.

And balance? Find me one person who’s got that.

The Sims clung to me at times, and

I recoiled here, there—

Mind you, no idea about his state.

Learned about it too late.

“We’re so sorry,” said the

Message machine when

My sublet played it over again.

Like an imaginary friend

He fled with my years.