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Poised On The Brink.

Updated on March 6, 2010

  Poised on the brink


Poised on the brink
of a long dark drink
in the cold

waters of death
I am a bridge between
life and oblivion,
my own mind the key,
to the rock of ages
that holds me now.

Time is a mime
waving it's hands
in silent screams,
pale faced

and desperate
it shortens my dreams.

Squatting butt naked
I bury my head in
the crook of my elbow
which steals

all sight from me.

Just a somersault
between a rock
and a harder place
would erase,
any hesitation,
bringing a

suffocating peace.

but the birds

over head fly on,

and I realize then,
that I would

matter little,
if I perished

by my own hand.

Life would press on,
leaving me a

comma uncurled
in a box with many

other unimpressive

characters abandoned.

Just a tiny

useless footnote,
as something far more
novel rolls on,
the "Story of Life,"

less one

inconsequential edit,
me, myself and I.

So I rise, and find
the strength to

face another day
forsaking my

 morgue clothes,
and putting on
something far

more suitable 
for co-existence with
the world I

sought to flee.








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