I feel like
I’m on the edge.

Not just near it,

like I’ve been before
or constantly
for the past three years,

but on it,

and I can feel
my feet fidgeting,
searching for
a way off
or down
or away
from it

and jumping
seems so tempting.

It beckons
with wide arms
and I’m digging in
and plummeting
all at once.

The air lifts
and I rise,
my toes barely

and I know
there must be more,
some grand reason
or design
as to why
this life exists,
why I breathe
and why you do it

without me.

There must be
a reality
that isn’t this one
or some larger meaning
to sitting on this edge

because I can feel it
slicing into my skin
as I clutch frantically
for answers
I’ll never have

and it feels like
jumping is the only choice.

~ Patience


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