fell on black days.

He watched a couple of drops form on his thumb and index finger, looking at it with a seeming indifference and watching it fall almost in slow motion in his mind, to dissipate in the water of the bathtub; losing their color after a few moments. He idly moved in the warm water and stared at the ceiling and for a moment was he not certain if it was really moving or it was his state of intoxication at this point of time.
This is taking too long.
He saw the showerhead and also noticed drops forming there and he waited for them to fall, but eternity took too long and he returned to watching the drops on his hands instead. He took a swig from the glass on the chair beside him and grimaced as the taste of the whiskey stung then he felt the warmth; inside him the whiskey echoed the temperature of the water. He opened it a bit further and felt it sting and watched the drops form a bit faster. He felt a little more colder, a bit more colder despite the water.
Better.
He heard Chris Cornell singing in the living room; vague and familiar, singing a song from a decade ago, about falling on black days, and wondered why it didn't hurt as much now as before. The water had taken on a more darker shade but he could still see the sharp contrast of his naked body against the whiteness of the tub, the colors almost surreal and he began to see stars near the edge of his vision, and reached over to drink more and his left hand slipped into the water, almost without him noticing.
Almost numb.
The last of the whiskey was pure heat and he wondered why he was still here, even as his vision grew dimmer and thought about everything that had led him up to this point, to this apartment and to this small bathtub. For some reason, he realized for the first time in years, he didn't feel lonely, though he didnt feel happy also. He was in a state he knew that was devoid of anything, a sort of release and all he wanted to do was close his eyes now, to let the blackness take over, to just surrender and not feel anything, even the multiple razor cuts across his left arm.
Emotionless.
He would have heard Chris Cornell singing again about falling on black days when they played Soundgarden on his wake up to his funeral procession. It didn't rain the day they buried him.