I cling to the rough,
warped edges
and **** in a breath
as I feel them tear
through my fingers.
The blood makes it slick,
easier to fall,
or easier to slide.
I shuffle my feet,
and I slide,
ever so delicately,
wind slapping my face,
but gently.
We slide here.
I came out here to see
something.
I don’t know what.
I could hear it humming
in the back of my mind,
and it sounded warm.
My blood is warm,
and the cuts sting,
more when I grab on
tighter.
I can feel some going right
down to the bone.
I wince when it scrapes,
but my teeth don’t crack,
so I can hold on
a little longer.
It’s quiet,
and I know there
should be voices.
There should be
many voices.
Shouting.
Screaming.
But there’s nothing.
Only the wind in my ears,
and the shuffle of my feet.
There’s no sound for when I bleed.
At least it’s bright out.
I just wish I could see
something.
Anything, so long as
it’s warm.
I could hear it,
like a promise,
in a dark room with
bare white walls
and rain coming in
through the cracks in
the window.
It’s gone now,
even the room
is gone.
And it’s so quiet.
It hurts being out here,
so I slide, ever so quietly.
No one will hear me,
not out here,
not if I slide.
The ground is close.
I could make it.
I could let go,
and still bleed,
but the pain would end.
I could let go,
and maybe then I’d
hear them.
The ground is close.
I could make it.
Maybe even
land on my feet.
I could let go,
and walk it off.
Walk,
but where?
Even the room
is gone,
and it’s so quiet,
no one to even
scream.
I came out here
to see.
To hear,
to feel
something.
I walked
here.
And now there’s only
the blood on my hands,
and the silence,
and I can’t feel the pain
anymore,
it’s too deep,
there’s only the blasted
silence,
and the bright light of day
that blinds my every move
as I try to climb and wish
I could jump,
and if I could only hear them,
hear them shout,
scream,
“Climb!” or
“Jump!”
I would do either in a heartbeat,
just to stop the blood.
Just to stop the pain I can’t even feel.
But everything is gone.
So I slide.
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 11:00 PM UTC
I cling to the rough,
warped edges
and **** in a breath
as I feel them tear
through my fingers.
The blood makes it slick,
easier to fall,
or easier to slide.
I shuffle my feet,
and I slide,
ever so delicately,
wind slapping my face,
but gently.
We slide here.
I came out here to see
something.
I don’t know what.
I could hear it humming
in the back of my mind,
and it sounded warm.
My blood is warm,
and the cuts sting,
more when I grab on
tighter.
I can feel some going right
down to the bone.
I wince when it scrapes,
but my teeth don’t crack,
so I can hold on
a little longer.
It’s quiet,
and I know there
should be voices.
There should be
many voices.
Shouting.
Screaming.
But there’s nothing.
Only the wind in my ears,
and the shuffle of my feet.
There’s no sound for when I bleed.
At least it’s bright out.
I just wish I could see
something.
Anything, so long as
it’s warm.
I could hear it,
like a promise,
in a dark room with
bare white walls
and rain coming in
through the cracks in
the window.
It’s gone now,
even the room
is gone.
And it’s so quiet.
It hurts being out here,
so I slide, ever so quietly.
No one will hear me,
not out here,
not if I slide.
The ground is close.
I could make it.
I could let go,
and still bleed,
but the pain would end.
I could let go,
and maybe then I’d
hear them.
The ground is close.
I could make it.
Maybe even
land on my feet.
I could let go,
and walk it off.
Walk,
but where?
Even the room
is gone,
and it’s so quiet,
no one to even
scream.
I came out here
to see.
To hear,
to feel
something.
I walked
here.
And now there’s only
the blood on my hands,
and the silence,
and I can’t feel the pain
anymore,
it’s too deep,
there’s only the blasted
silence,
and the bright light of day
that blinds my every move
as I try to climb and wish
I could jump,
and if I could only hear them,
hear them shout,
scream,
“Climb!” or
“Jump!”
I would do either in a heartbeat,
just to stop the blood.
Just to stop the pain I can’t even feel.
But everything is gone.
So I slide.
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