how'd I end up at the edge
you said you'd never let me fall
then quickly changed your mind
you said you'd push me off

here's your ******* chance
why don't you go ahead
and do it?

these edges—
another flashback,
another ****-up,
a little messed up.
a bad person: me—
forcing my apologies,
a true comedian,
always performing.
but who's watching?

always peering over that edge
edges that wait
for you to push me off.
I don’t know if I’ve survived ****,
if edges still bleed
all over the side of my high-rise,
rising.

one step
off this edge
and you get your wish.

****

that’s like saying
sixty-degree water isn’t hot
just because it isn’t boiling,
and it isn’t cold either.

my body feels heavy
after
fifty-ton anchors
pulling my frozen limbs under.
and i don’t like the feeling.
and it’s so ******* cold
to breathe.

i had a thought today:
the world would go on
if i were gone.
no one would notice.
it was comforting—
no one would grieve.
no one.
but me.
it’s no fun, you know;
i would know.

nonsense,
breathed in too many chemicals,
droplets of poison,
in my mind.
people who know you
will be affected,
or at least, perhaps,
some of them,
whether you want to admit it or not.

well, i think
there’s a difference
between people knowing you
and loving you,
or perhaps knowing you
is a kind of love,
but it never is.

i thought
therapy could help me get over
my fear of death,
so I could—
well, you know...

death serves a sweet martini,
and I could use a drink,
’cause i can't see
past the past.

Oh, man,
it's
Happy Hour