Soft hands idling quietly by
snatching remnants of credibility
its cloak opaque to reflection
you grasp its hand,
like a double-edged sword
you hold on tight
wisping away into the night
never to be seen again.

The walls are dark and the smell is repugnant
death on its tongue
Decay in the teeth.
Smiling back as if a fun-house of mirrors
dubious, distorted, distraught
you hold on.

Cradling the noose like a new mother to its child
you gawk, admire, and dream
Of a darkness to bring you closer to the ledge.
Gently pushing formidable bounds
released to self-indulgence
you're alone.

As the world around you lights up only by screens
and reacts only by the ping of self-admiration.
A ghost among the blinded
walking slowly by as everything is in full speed.
Stuck in a repetitive loneliness
damnation of socialization
pity. pity. pity.

Pulling onto the strings of darkness
puppeting along madness
mastering hell as its vibrant and claw full of disappointment
you sit on the outside of the world
watching it comfortable in its cage.

Breathe out,
taking yourself out of the groggy room
Drawn back, six years old and
kicking high enough on the swing set,
high enough for tree tops.
Swinging became toes dangling from a high ledge
high ledges into things your parents told you not to touch, not to burn yourself on,

Let the taste burn,
Through fingertips
candle wax eloping down the wick, it's last flicker of redundant flame.
Time is runs short,
feel yourself creasing down the middle,
stained like an old table cloth, wilting away like sunflowers
curling at the corners
Dust swirls through the empty room, echoes in a ribcage, punctured lung.

too strong she was.
sitting
dizzily on the edge.
Do not disturb the disheveled lady,
made cynical, tottering on the ledge.
"I can't manage tonight."
said poor miss polite and reasonable.