There is a certain peace
In staring over the edge,
Into the void,
And seeing the ruined path
Laid out for lost souls,
Curving and bending, through
The barren trees of time,
And frozen dust of space.
Seeing that path,
Feeling its ridges dig into your toes,
And the pull, like an anvil
In the pit of your stomach,
Trying to tip you over the edge.
Making eye contact with
Your maker and theirs,
Feeling the icy chill of finality,
And call of the sirens
In your tired spine.
Knowing that you control
Whether to take the first step.
Jan 7, 2025
Jan 7, 2025 at 8:23 AM UTC
There is a certain peace
In staring over the edge,
Into the void,
And seeing the ruined path
Laid out for lost souls,
Curving and bending, through
The barren trees of time,
And frozen dust of space.
Seeing that path,
Feeling its ridges dig into your toes,
And the pull, like an anvil
In the pit of your stomach,
Trying to tip you over the edge.
Making eye contact with
Your maker and theirs,
Feeling the icy chill of finality,
And call of the sirens
In your tired spine.
Knowing that you control
Whether to take the first step.
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