Come Down
I can see you about to jump
with your toes lined on the edge.
Your mind is filled with pain,
the worst kind one could feel.
As we’re standing on the roof,
I promise that you’ll heal.
You will heal,
but not if you jump.
After you walk back from the roof,
The light will begin edging back in,
until you can’t feel
all of that preserved pain.
I know your pain.
It’s your weakness, an Achilles heel,
because while you feel
the call from within the void to jump,
your strength is all you need
to edge away from this roof.
This chipped and stained cement roof,
with its worn-down edge,
caused by the pain
of others, those who didn’t find a way to heal
before the jump.
Is that how it feels?
Is that how it feels
to have a chest filled to the roof,
and with every jump
of the heartbeat, the pain
thickens, and there is no heal-
ing from a cut with that edge.
That edge
of a knife you feel
every time you think
thoughts that don’t heel
to your command.
Get off the roof.
I promise you’ll heal,
so back away from the edge
Don’t jump, and feel
my hand in yours,
as we walk off this roof,
in search of another way to ease the pain.
