That you fall not . . .
It's been a comfortable place, lately.
I know you don't understand,
because I've been here so long,
the other side of the coin of melancholy.
Aside, I might never have seen.
Still I know there's real hope.
You're there somewhere, I'm sure.
I just hope I can reach you.
If only we could see beyond ourselves.
There was a time when I could.
I tried to hold onto it and
I still want it back ---
I have it again now, still on the edge,
reaching out, no one knows to reach back.
I feel the razor's edge, nothing unusual,
an easy place, after this long.
What holds me here? You not here.
Do you see? If I weren't here, you'd be,
and I could only wail at your fall
knowing you'd never rise again.