On the Edge

I don't know that I've ever felt so alone
In such a crowded place
But this fluttering in my chest
Is fighting for every beat.
I try to skip over,
Start a new page,
But with every turn I find rips and ink bled through onto the place
That was supposed to be my fresh clean slate.

I may be the author of my life
But right now I feel the pen has busted in my hand,
Leaving me unable to begin my next line.
I have the writers block of a lifetime
My hand cramping too much
Leaving me unable to do anything but sit and stare
As the busted ink spreads
Covering everything in it's smooth black,
Forgetting the work I've done to get myself this far.

Because this far is on the edge,
And as I look back from my cliff nobody is in sight.
I've distanced myself
Left all behind as I've struggled to make me into someone.
What I've found is that I'm no one.

Just one small insignifigant speck in this sea
And I've slowly untied the net that connected me to the others.
Alone I cannot float.
I'm just sinking down.
Down.
Down.