I see you
standing there
on the edge, debating-
how life came to this,
when it all went South,
what to do,
where to run.

Your shadow
casts over
shimmering knives,
your tools of desperation,
your license to wound, to cut-
to feel.

You whisper your
final goodbyes-
one for me, even.
You think I won't
You don't know,
but I'm noticing.

I'll be with you soon-
so you can tell me 
what it's like
to meet death
face to face,
to feel the sting,
to give in,
to let go-
to fall.


The End

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