The Edge
Sometimes I feel myself slipping, gripping, dangling from the edge There are days my weight feels manageable, my fingertips dig in and I sway there knowing that today I have the strength Then there are days my fingers shake, nails breaking under the sheer pressure of my body being pulled down the ledge My breath is heavy yet shallow Skin feels pickled by my nerves The wind picks up and I’m chilled by my cold sweat I can only feel a cold pain ripple through my body as I hang in suspense. Can I make it one more day? When do I let go? I can’t. My hand has molded to the cliff edge from holding on for so long. I feel like my body has made the decision to hold on, but my mind is fading. One day, someone will find me here. They will wonder where I am and search for me. But until then, I swing from the edge. Fingers bleeding, blood dripping down my arm, becoming something unrecognizable.