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The bridge
Standing on the edge. Looking down below at thousands of train cars.
So high on drugs.
Wondering to myself can I?
Will I?
Do I have the strength to step back down from this edge.
Replaying the nights events in my head.
How we went to dinner. And how I couldn't eat. You questioning me why I was acting so funny? Simple reply that I wasn't hungry.
Time was standing still. In a blink of an eye.
I was sitting in a chair not knowing how I got there. Yelling and screaming at me telling me I was stupid and I should just die.
Leaving in tears. Angry driving to the bridge. Standing here. Telling myself to just die...
Jacob---I like this. It
Jacob---I like this. It reminds me of a first encounter with the stark reality of how people can be when they are under undue stress. You explained it so perfectly from the receiver's end! Yes! It can make you feel that way the first time!! I like how you write!!
~peace~
...................
...and he asked her, "do you write poetry? Because I feel as if I am the ink that flows from your quill."
"No", she replied, "but I have experienced it. "