Sometimes, it's the last key that turns it open

His life had been characterized by weakness for as long as he had been self-aware.
Mentally appraising his personality profile, he shakes his head in utter disbelief: According to Biology, he is supposed to be the strongest of the horde in the spermatic dash that crowned him with life. What ridiculous nonsense! He thought.
He has never done anything but flail and thrash against the currents of life.
He is not only sick and tired now but he is sick and tired of being sick and tired. He had put off the decision to do something for too long. Fate has resisted every of his attempt at self-embetterment. So it has dawned on him that if there exists an undisclosed category of people whose script in the theatre of life has a predetermined outcome of failure and defeat, he is unarguably among them. It’s a sad fact yet one he is no longer flinching from. He is facing it and his decision has become decisive: Stop it now!

Stopping it though would require courage: a trait so conspicuously lacking in his constitution.
But he had observed the empowerment that fear gives to weaker creatures in the face of danger that may spell their untimely end. He had seen Goats revise their defensive strategy to an attacking one when driven against a wall. He was going to let himself be driven against a wall to bring out his survival instinct, which in this case does not mean continued existence: but the survival of his dignity from the mindless and endless assaults launched against it by failure.

Life had being cruel to him. It had brought to him death in small installments: A Heartbreak here, some rejection there etc. He desired a swifter exit. But Life apparently favored a slower approach. Since it wasn’t coming at the rate he preferred, he surmised that he would have to take the initiative.

He did just this on a magical night: A night that saw the Moon out in full splendor and Stars twinkling with unusual brilliance. It could be speculated that nature was out in its best to encourage him or bid his suffering soul good bye.
He found just the perfect spot: a clear patch of ground with just a minimal clutter of leaves beneath a tall, rugged tree.
With one sweeping glance, he took in Earth but couldn’t feel any tug of emotion in his heart to suggest that he would miss this place that was never truly home to him. Admittedly, there are so many unknowns. He didn’t know for instance, if death would give him a better place. That answer rested too high in the realms of religion. Perhaps, he didn’t even wish for another home; perhaps what he needed was an end to everything; a cessation, finality!

Blocking out these train of thought, which was beginning to let in doubts into his settled mind, he quickly reached for the wooden handled, gleaming blade he had bought earlier in the day. Everything had being mentally rehearsed to familiarity. The organ to strike at was the heart. He was going to drive the blade in with maximum force to get the deadly result he wished for: He didn’t want to survive it or be in too much pain.

Just as he was holding up the knife, he felt something tumble down along the length of his leg, startling him. Narrowing his eyes in the poorly lit and shadow littered environment, he saw it was his pocket Bible.
He picked it up seeing it was parted to the book of Acts. Lifting up the small print closer to his vision, he read the words:
My strength is perfected in your weakness…My Grace is sufficient for you.
Then the book fell off his grip. He picked it up again, noticing the parting to a different page. Reading out loud, he heard the following words:
God hath chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things which are mighty; and base things of the world, and things which are despised hath God chosen, yea, and things which are not, to bring to naught things that are.” …
In one sobering instant the import of the scriptures hit him. Like a man waking up from a dream, he looked again at himself realizing with horror that but for those words he would be lying dead in the pool of his own blood with a knife sticking out from his chest. He walked away with a new resolve. Perhaps it’s the last key in the ring that would open the door he desired to enter into his fulfillment. He was going to turn his knife against failure!

Twilight Zone

My strength failing
I clutch for support as I sink through the emptiness of air
Floor's indifference takes my fall and offers me pain
My breath escapes like a cat fleeing a burning building

In my skull, silence explodes!
I strain my ear to pick up the sound of concern
But activity has no time for me

I seek a voice to state my case
But my vocal chord strangles my cause

All these gets filed away in my memory
Which is already an overflowing archive of pain and hurt

I lie befuddled as everyone walks and talks
My prostrate form becoming a pipe through which resentment and bitterness course
I grumble that my life is a sweaty and screaming nightmare

Light fades as my thoughts take a walk on the shadowed track of despair
I lose my footing...on reason...on joy
Depression ambushes and coshes my head
I fall unconscious: coldness and numbness blanketing me
Happiness is not cold enough to revive me

I wake up later and unwind memories reel
I make a movie screen out of air
It ripples with images of the past
And reflects grotesque shadows of the future

My vision is so clouded
It's rainy season in my head
To control the flood, I grab a pen and write
Punctuating each line with a sigh

My bones are rickety furniture
They bear my weight with complaining creaks

In a crowded world
I manage to feel alone
Caged by fears, released by tears

I muse that if it was up to me, I wouldn't live
I would decide that it was easier to just leave

There are those who have it better
And those who have it worse
Neither better nor worse
I stand in twilight zone