Red Wall

Taken from journal entries when I was on the edge.

Red Wall

On a rumpled sheet, the shadow of a crow
perched near the window, looking down his nose
at the wall, painted red with blood and brains,
and the empty body that remains.

Soaring above he'd heard the blast
announcing yet another had finished last.
Or had they, instead, run ahead and won
with the speed of a bullet from the gun?

He silently wondered if anyone knew
what's really real, or what could be true.
Does one commit the very same sin
when choosing to die, or dying to win?

The pressure of always finishing first
can cause the soul to crack and burst.
Those caught close get wet in the flood
of raining tears and pouring blood.

It doesn't matter who's first or last,
just play the role in which you were cast.
True friends won't judge, but are heard to say,
"it wasn't his fault, it's the part he played."