| forever i have been dancing, trite, on the edge of self-hatred the broken-glass edge the shining-blade edge and not once have i seen blood fall from my feet not one drop descended until today, when halfway through a pizzzicato climb to the climax of a day my eyes drew down and drowned to see the crimson flooding fall below that one misstep, and as i write, i tumble. only now i wonder, does this make the battle lost? will this weakness underwhelm me? and... what is lurking, down below? |
| the tumble |