And if I fall,

I'll plummet,

Four-letter expletives

Sparking off my tongue,

Jaw crackling,

Hellfire brewing in my glare.

Don't get me wrong, though--

If I fall,

It will be of my own cowardly will,

Succumbing to the internal pressure building,

Seizing my chest in convulsions of

Undignified sorrow, that ugly cry

Held secret in the hands pressed to my face,

Ten iron bars on the windows of my soul.

I imprison myself in the what-ifs,

Endless possibilities of future negativities

Prevailing only in my insecurities.

I am not secure

In the thought of falling,

Roller-coasting downwards

In the desperate attempt

To feel,

To know a god,

To meet a god.

But if I fall,

Who will lay flowers on my grave?