The Edge

Model: Ash Marx — Photo by Demetrius McCullough

Picture yourself walking.

It isn’t a vision that scares you.

You and I,

We’re comfortable walking.

So is he, and she is, too.


It is the foundation beneath the splendor that resides within our physical bodies.

Let us envision

This walk,

It is a journey.

And suddenly,

This walk becomes more difficult to imagine.

Journeys are uncertain,


A path that splits itself down the middle of your mind,

Left, right

It’s a choice.

And you left, right?

A walk, towards a journey -

With choices?

Your breath quickens — That scares you.

You have now become extremely conscious of the air escaping your lips.

The invisible strings that were so thoughtfully tied to the tips of each of your fingers are not pulling you towards path that was meant for your footsteps

Both the pain and the beauty behind a choice –

It’s the glory within those invisible strings that you haven’t discovered yet.

Now, this journey takes a turn,

Your heart has been broken by the demons of modern life,

Suddenly, the fork in the road vanishes

And you find your eyes peering over the edge of a cliff.

If you are the artist behind this masterpiece,

Then, paint.

Oh, you’re standing on the edge of a cliff with a broken heart.

If this were a headline for a newscast, you would’ve jumped to your death by now.

But, envision, my love.


Life is not a newscast

Newscasts are for those who haven’t painted their greatest masterpieces, yet.

It is scary.

Much scarier than the simple walk through life

As previously imagined.

I, too, stood on the edge of that very cliff.

I jumped.

Not to my death –

But to my destiny.

I untied each of the invisible strings curled around my limbs,

One by one

And I realized that I was not a puppet,

But a form of art that I, myself, had to master, in order to understand.

Which brings me here

Suspended beneath the sky, lifted by the air,

Only because

I remembered to paint wings into the blades of my naked shoulders

As I removed the weight of the world from my bones.

Listen to the voice that calls you to the edge.

It is you,

from the other side.

Fear not what lies beyond it

For you’ve already made it there.

I recall,

As I painted my way through darkness,

That it wasn’t every other soul whom I needed to please

It was the souls who loved my passions from every angle,

Every corner,

Every mountaintop, and every edge of every cliff.

They named me Art,

A title which I thrive beneath.

I pray, every sunrise,

That each soul lingering within this galaxy

Signs his initials at the bottom of a masterpiece they had to

Leap from,

To understand.

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