Voices are telling me not to jump
My hands hold on to the ledge
The voices are loud, demanding
Some are crying out, beseeching me
Some are familiar, others not at all
"STOP!" they yell with inevitable urgency

I close my eyes to contemplate my fall
The shocked expressions of people
taken aback by the sight of someone
descending in a flash
as they happen to look out their windows

I'm afraid to let go now
The thought of striking a pavement
feet first (or any other way)
is a deciding factor
I just can't do this.  It's too messy

It takes what feels like forever
for most of these people to haul me up to
the balcony - two cops help me to a sofa

Maybe tomorrow I think

Where did all these people come from I wonder

Maybe not tomorrow.  Another day then

When no one is looking

Maybe I'll just go off to a motel room
somewhere in the suburbs.  Fortify myself
with something strong and bitter
swallow a shaky handful of pills
to blur my yellow streak

But no crowds next time

God my hands hurt like hell

No high-rise drama

No Dorothy Parker babble in my brain
telling me I might as well live

And no fuss