YET ANOTHER PRECIPICE

Some nervous energy at the edge

of yet another precipice,

a piteous rush of adrenaline

combine to mistake

yet another leg in the end

for a beginning; hope

is the poison

we can't but drink even

when we know it's hemlock

rushing down our throat. One

disaster after another, this

thing called life. In

the end, in the real end, the

last leg, when we finally

go over the edge

of a precipice in the abyss,

do we even then

comfort ourselves with

false hope, that the

sound of bones breaking

is but a new beginning?

06.04.2018