Frozen against the wind
And crashing sunlight
Casting down
The mirage that
This was a good idea.

Only fifteen feet high –
Why does it feel closer to sixty?
Even at fifteen feet I have
A bird’s eye view
Of every possible miss-step,
Stumble, and endless decent.

Pat myself down –
Everything is in place,
No missing pieces.
Close my eyes –
Try to catch
The breath that escaped me
Like the life that already should have.

Countdown –
Three.

One stutter means disaster, again.
Two.

No one is around to save me.
One.

Screw this.

Bound off the edge –
No jagged cliff face ripping
Another jagged scar.

Victorious splash into the water,
No blood emerging with me this time.
No broken bones or torn open wounds.
No more mental boundaries to leap.