The Precipice
I stand at a precipice.
I look over the rugged, rocky rampart and see my own nonexistence.
I stare deep into the darkness and I watch.
I watch as my close friends weep.
I watch as my family grieves.
I watch as the world keeps spinning,
As the days march onward.
When people find themselves at this edge,
The line between where they live and where they die,
They can’t help but run and hide.
They can’t help but stay on solid ground,
Where they know where they stand.
Where they know that they’re safe.
But I get bored standing around.
Standing only where I belong, where I am.
So I tie a rope, and I climb down that cliff, a belayer into my own mortality.
I see where the world will be without me.
Who’ll remember this class but forget us all.
Who’ll remember my face but forget my name.
Who’ll remember me and wonder what happened after school.
Now when people see me down in this pit,
They don’t know what to do.
They run around doing their best to pull me out,
To fill the pit and build a park, burying me.
They try to save me, at least that’s what they think.
They upend my piton and pull at my rope.
I would’ve been fine if they’d left me alone,
But they have to intervene, they have to be my hero.
When at last I’m on solid ground again they prod me,
Asking questions and questions that I’ve heard before,
But I’m fine-truly fine,
But because I’m uncontent standing where everyone else stands,
I’m the freak who’s locked up in his room,
Downing pills every morning to improve my mood.
They’re all so worried that I’ll give up on life,
That they never take stop to ask why I do what I do.
I’m a curious mind, perhaps a bit morbid,
But I’d be more worried if I didn’t wonder,
Wonder what happens when I’m gone.
If I don’t stop and think about where I’m going,
Then that, that’s when life means nothing:
When my death means even less.