It's so easy to push a man.
First, they'd stupidly go to the edge and just stand there,
Saying it felt great.
I've never stood on the edge, so I can't vouch for them.
Anyways, they'd stand there, oblivious to an impending doom,
How, I often wonder.
I mean, how do they trust
So easily?
Do they not know the ways of life?
I do not trust myself, let alone crazy looking
Strangers with scars on their face.
And even when I come close (too close, uncomfortably close) to them,
They'd look at me with somber eyes.
Even when I put my hand on their back,
Ready to plunge them into darkness,
They'd be look onwards with a smile, as if happy to embrace their fate.
I've never seen their faces when they fall down.
But, for my own sanity, I like to think they aren't smiling ones.