This precipice is vast and very, very dark.

I might fall in if I lean over too much, even just an inch or maybe two.

My fingers yearn to reach down into it–

graze the crystal ball and ask it a question or two, or maybe ten.

Picking the most important ones feels too heavy a task. 

My toes dangle over the edge, 

my pulse and my breathing dance with no rhythm. 

A gentle wind blows, but my frame is delicate. 

I reach my out arms, 

grasping, reaching 

at something, at anything to tether me to 

this side of sanity.

The whisper of the wind, 

the chill of my skin–

I sway. 

I scream, looking down into the abyss,

falling with empty hands

clutching my sides, squeezing–

clinging to my final pieces of certainty. 

• e.v.