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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