The chilly, late-Autumn day Was just like any other. As I boarded the yellow tin can I grabbed the coat into which I would smother My face, flushed and damp with the tears. The tears that sometimes explode Out of my eyes when something sets me Over the edge, onto which I can no longer hold. The edge that is the difference Between falling into oblivion and sanity. The edge that makes me question My very existence in humanity. Why get so hung up the things That in reality, couldn't make any Difference in the future of your existence, Contrary to what was told to you by many? Today could be the day That I can honestly, without hesitation, Say that the edge no longer runs my life Like a convict on probation. The edge that no longer runs My life as I exit the metal can. The freedom is what I have now, That the edge is no longer better than.