Allez vous faire

At the end of twilight
We sit on the ledge
Feet dangling, hearts pounding,
Leaning toward the edge.

And it’s not the fear of the unknown;
It’s not the anxiousness of chance,
That breathes so heavily down our backs,
Waiting, and waiting for a glance:

A regret, a doubt, a faltering ambition.
It waits and stalls and snaps its jaws,
Mouth watering, pulse steady,
Panting at our backs.

Wiley, high-strung, and bound to the sky,
Preying on the weak, depraved souls
Who fall to greed and misfortune:
Panting out their warbled, lofty goals.

They never see it coming,
Never hear him enter:
An animal cloaked in skin;
A man disguised in leather.

His teeth are dull, his jaw is sharp.
He wears a smug, trying smile.
Always tapping, trapping, grabbing at you
And drawing you in, all the while.

The heat of its breath
Makes the cool canyon air
Feel soft as a cloud
And comfortably fair.

Her hand quivers in mine
As she begins to rise,
By my side till the end
Through terror and lies.

She pulls me close and whispers softly,
About how she understands if I let go
And everything in me is screaming and trying,
Fighting their own petty battles and so

With lead in my heart and clouds in my head,
I step way from the cliff and stand erect,
Turning toward the forest,
Sure to meet the beast head-on.