The chilly, late-Autumn day
Was just like any other.
As I boarded the yellow tin can
I grabbed the coat into which I would smother
My face, flushed and damp with the tears.
The tears that sometimes explode
Out of my eyes when something sets me
Over the edge, onto which I can no longer hold.
The edge that is the difference
Between falling into oblivion and sanity.
The edge that makes me question
My very existence in humanity.
Why get so hung up the things
That in reality, couldn't make any
Difference in the future of your existence,
Contrary to what was told to you by many?
Today could be the day
That I can honestly, without hesitation,
Say that the edge no longer runs my life
Like a convict on probation.
The edge that no longer runs
My life as I exit the metal can.
The freedom is what I have now,
That the edge is no longer better than.