Some morning I awake
To find myself tittering on the precipice.
Hair-thin strands of faith
Keep me dangling.
In times of strength
I can almost weave them
Into durability;
But I find then snapping
Like a guitar string
I wonder between sanity and psychosis
And though I fear the abyss
This uncertainty
Finds me longing to cut the strings.
How much longer can I endure?
This mind that I remember to be strong
Somehow isn't
And knowing that
Almost frightens me more
Than the dark uncertainty.
When
Did death began to look
Like salvation?