This marble pedestal,
that has me so high up
like an extraterrestrial,
is causing a lack of oxygen
my thoughts drift from neurons
to the tip of my pen
so many questions without answers
so many things giving me cancer
my own thoughts jousting
after the sting of a friend's syllables
even though I try and be gold
they still hold me up
push me to the clouds
where I will die for want of air
but if I jump down
I drown