Branches reach out like fingers
Nails scraping at my skin.
Feet pound against the leaves,
Each step like booming thunder
In my unraveling mind.
Slam against the cold ground,
I want to stop. No, I must
Keep running. Pounding heart,
Panting breath, so far from thought.
Just keep running.
Sun’s rays pierce through
The thinning foliage.
Suddenly, there is only sky.
Standing on the edge of creation
I stare out over the world below.
A single, dark cloud passes
In front of the sun and I
Turn, startled by the crisp
Snapping of a branch.
There’s no one there.
Author notes
Sequel to "Back from the Edge," though distinctly more depressing. Ah well, I have an angsty muse.
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