On The Edge
On the edge, you take a deep breath,
The cold, grey water beckons below.
Down at the bottom, do you see something glow?
Silence, the night is still, with no sound,
The voices in your head grow increasingly loud.
"If you turn around now, your parents would be proud."
Ghostly apparitions, relaying your past,
The haunting memories from which you hide,
The joyous occasions followed by when you cried
The wind with the smell of salt in the air,
The trees barely twitching in the breeze.
Under your breath you mumble the word "please."
At dawn you wake alone in your room,
The familiar objects, your books and your bed.
Like they always tell you its al in your head.