Some like to call it the edge The event horizon over which we peer into our own personal voids of Emptiness, darkness, nothingness. Gravity so strong no thought escapes Stare too deep and you drown type rifts. I’ve always thought it more like standing on train tracks Watching the 8 am express race the sun Barreling towards you Closer and closer Faster and faster Stopping abruptly inches from your face. Everything stops. Wind, water, wings All frozen in time as perfect statues of themselves. You dare not move. Existence could ripple through the air and set into motion a chain of events That culminates with you painting the underside of 22 cars. But standing still is just as disastrous. At any time time may catch up with itself And that train may catch up with you. So there you stand Motionless, breathless, soulless, Staring down iron and steel, Somehow trapped beyond the laws of man and reality Contemplating the consequences of your next impulse. Meanwhile, The train has already hit you. Your friends and family have arrived at the scene And begun taking care of you The way paramedics do for broken people, Gently. Somehow you survived But that train took a part of you with it. Every morning is the same, 8 AM Suspended in time between the tracks Staring down fate Daring yourself to move Because for some reason, In your mind, That train still hasn’t hit you yet And today Is another chance To get out of the way.