For months I stood there
Teetering upon the precipice;
It being clear what I should do
Yet all I would or could choose
Was to merely waste away in fear.
For years I stood like an oak
My roots digging deeper and deeper
Into fertile soil with fright,
Seeking in childish desperation
To cling to my ledge and fight the erosion
Crumbling the world around me,
And threatening to dethrone me
From my carefully constructed perch.
So long I stared at my abysmal future,
Avoiding dire questions,
Holding them back with a cold-shoulder suture,
Outwardly functioning yet inwardly paralyzed,
That I couldn’t remember by which way I came;
At what station had my life derailed?
The path had long since washed away.
And so I stood listlessly,
For what seemed like centuries,
Lost as to who I’d come to be.
All the while,
The carefully kept facade of my reality
Shattered to pieces around me
Atop my crumbling mountain cliff.
There’s no haven to be found,
No trail to descend,
But I am still going down.
A dense despair fogs my brain
My roots are strained and snap in pain
A solitary voice of sanity,
My daily mirror-mantra repeats:
“Maintain, Maintain, Maintain.”