My feet still shifting, my stomach still
swelling and contracting in itself.
I cannot look down. I cannot look down.
I can almost hear the steep fall below me.
The echoes of birds haunt in the their
fading song. But I stare out high.
High out and above this city- across its tops.

The peaks somewhat cheapened by the red sky.
It falls over them like a blanket, tucking it
in and keeping it warm for the night.  
The bricks, steel and concrete are weak
in their worldly nature. The sky swirls
and spins colours to the wanders of my eye.

I want to scream but words betray me,
My foul tongue and dimly lit wit stick-
stammering and fail to wrap around a thought.
I’m caught between a point and an apology.
I beg for symbols to tumble, for angels to
lift me from this roof and show me truth.

But they drop me back inside myself,
I still sit staring bare at this city.
Smoke sticks in my throat even though
its a few miles down from here.
Fear falls on me with the night
and the city’s soon enveloped completely.

But bright lights from high rises,
twenty-four-sevens, taxis etc. Blind
in their boldness. Their grotesque in nature.
People seem to be simply just match sticks.
I can only see them as far off as the Tesco’s.
By then my sight blurs and I dizzily have to steady

To keep from falling off the edge.