On the edge of life,
Not playing with fire,
No games with a knife,
Just needles and liars.

Into the vein of truth,
A path of clarity and hurt,
Perched on the ledge of a roof,
Where all is brightness and dirt.

The spinning carousel of time,
Where everything is confused,
Without reason or rhyme,
But my heart’s alive; enthused.

Crashed beneath hellish ground,
The heat melts my senses,
The fear deadens the sound,
As I’m swallowed through the defences.