On the Brink

I plead with myself

to stop talking in words

that make no sense,

raised eyebrows of delusion

as I struggle for perch

on my moon out of reach.

I sit on the brink

waiting for estranged gods

to rain darkness on my soul -

retaliation for the fight

I battle daily with myself,

waiting for the sword to fall

on my hidden thorns.

I wait for green leaves

of peace to head across

sharp rocks of violated reality

of the truths only I can see.

Intense heat of retaliation

masks my torment.

There is no room for me

in the red streams of

shameful heart as score

is settled and I bleed alone.