Fate has always put me there, safely a few feet from the edge.

When I turn SHE walks up to me, and stares at my contracting pupils.


I only look in her hollow eyes.


Closing my eyelids, HER cold hand strokes my cheek.


I embrace her with acceptance.




HER lips I kiss, HER face I caress,

HER face ... 

THE face ... 

The face of DEATH herself.




And now I can fearlessly step and look over this simple edge,

teasing, tempting, torturing pretentiously, at sickly little fate.