Precipice

I am standing at the edge of a cliff-face,

my feet planted firmly in the ground.

My hands tightly gripping at nothing,

as if nothing was, somehow, going to help me stand firm.

Wind is gusting behind me, pushing me,

pushing me, pushing with such intensity.

I remember the weight of you as you pinned me to the floor and how I felt less of a person at the loss of my person. You stole from a child and you were a man. How could I stop you?

The ground beneath me is crumbling,

as I peer over the cliff edge beneath me.

The waves begin to form.

I remember London - 'the big smoke' I remember the call. "Everything is okay" Of course it is, I thought, then I caught the first coach home.

My best friend resting his head softly on a white pillow as the stench of day-old blood directed my eyes to the wound in his head that exposed his brain and my pain as I lost mine.

The waves grow but I stand firm,

un-phased and smiling still.

My false face, unchanged, hasn’t noticed,

that I am now closer to that edge. I hold on.

I remember the five years of solitude. The rusty little key that unlocks the book of my heart so I can pour out its contents is kept only by myself.

The cliff is leaving me now but I have not fallen.

Instead, I have constructed an arc.

A bubble surrounding myself,

it’s delicate walls seem so easily broken.

Inside there is a breeze-less calm.

Serenity.

I float high above an ocean in turmoil. 

Towering waves typhoon, twisting and crashing,

a torrent of emotions sway my tormented mind.

But... I am safe. This bubble has kept me safe.

I float peacefully away from foaming giants beneath me.

I feel... untouchable.

I remember lighting the wick. Burning the candle at both ends. Trudging down a path I never should have taken. Searing a new route is no easy task when dragging the burden of times that just weren't right. Losing a passion.

That last shift. 

Sailing home I could feel the winds of freedom,

escorting me there; when in front of us,

suddenly, in the middle of the road,

a car is turned over a women screaming.

The ambulances, the fire-fighters,

the unrelenting tiredness,

that engulfed my bones and my brain.

When I finally got home I deserved that bottle. 

I slept like a log.

Until the next morning; my first day off.

I remember thinking "who rings this early?"

I took the call.

My mother shrieked.

My body crashed into the bed.

My brother is dead.

and I am floating now but the waves are so strong.

So violent that I bring myself higher and higher.

I am imprisoned in a bubble I could pop with my pinkie.

Only, bursting it would mean braving those waters.

Feeling those things I have so detached myself from.

Fear holds me in this bubble. I had not noticed,

that all the good in me has been draining out slowly.

Mixing into those waves I fear so much.

I am calm but I am detached, I am losing myself,

and the only way out is to let myself fall.

As I write this I am locked in internal debate,

and the words I use must be forced out,

because they have emotion.

I must not feel emotion.

And if I fall into that ocean.

I could easily go under.

I could easily lose.

As I lost so much before.

I should feel sad.

I feel so little now,

but I still remember.