On The Edge


 

Ducking down

to avoid the rage

meant for THEM

but thrown at me

 

I sit on the edge

 

Hiding behind

fancy poems or

unfinished prose

to escape

pointless conversation

 

I sit on the edge

 

Watching you suffer

my hand is refused

my love cannot cure 

my words salt your wounds

 

I sit on the edge

 

You think my smiles

are a mockery

of your

tormented soul

comfortable

in the company

of its demons 

you stay just out of reach

 

I sit on the edge

 

You mistake me

for a mindless fool

because I choose

not to step in bullshit

You see my strength

as denial

You forget what

connects us 

you go to bed without me

 

I sit on the edge

 

I sit on the edge

of who I am,

wondering:

should I jump into

the stagnant pool

of hopelessness

just to keep you company?

 

© 2006 Rhonda Lee Richoux

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