High Wire

(Warning: content re domestic violence)

I espied you from above.

You were a Rorschach blot — a speck
against the rain-glistened tiles;
each tesselation, your mortal reflection 
in little portals of ochre and grey,
flicking ash out into the cold.

You were as familiar as the lie 
curled beneath my tongue
with its memory of then,
when we used to be
less crazy than good.

I remember now
the spark in your eye;
how you burrowed your fist into mine
with a smack like a hard boiled egg
dropped onto a stone.
I needed a message in a bottle.
You found yours in its bottom.

Yet, here I am — foot in, hand out.
Leaving your cage, the platform;
walking the high wire
that threads my needle of conscience,
suspended over your mounting despair below.

Your brittle little masochist,
escaping purgatory for once.
No need to catch me this time…
Leave me the hell alone.

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