Dangling on the edge
that decides my fate,
three fingers grasp the cliff
that was my life.
But now I'm here,
just seconds away from
what could be
a blessing or a catastrophe.
Hands reach every which way
from above and below.
I have a choice of
pulling me up or breaking my fall.
Both, please,
for I can't decide which way to go.
tugs at mt feet and
hands on my arm,
internal battles go on and on.
I've become my own enemy,
my own defeater,
for no matter what happens from here,
whether I accept open arms of the chosen
or fall prey to the so called insufficient,
I've pissed someone off.
So what do I do,
one digit left?
Give life the finger
and say hello to death.
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