Sitting

by Heather Rae

sitting
on the edge
of my cliff,
yes i have my
very own spot,
even if
i hate the view,
it's been paid
in full, long ago
i see bare feet
hanging down,
swinging occasionally,
this is no place
for a child
I say , just not aloud.
Fingers tracing
stitching on
an ugly faded
gold spread,
won't be long now.
i hate the knocking,
like there's a choice
to answer, so I watch her,
who I guess
is me,
her words fall
like syrup from her lips
though mine tremble.
Deaf to those who
stifle cries , ignoring them
who feel trapped inside,
she gives a voice to whispers
that quickly grow fat,
feasting on teases
that will find
places to land.
I hear her breath
calling, always too soon.
Betrayal snatches her away
the baton must not drop,
bumped to the front
of the line
but he's had training
so it goes unnoticed,
for really it's more about
the game, not the player.
Sometimes she barely
utters hello and leaves
him holding the bag.
Anywhere but here
a wasted thought,
don't look I tell
the others, it's never in time.
Watching the headboard
know the wall with dents,
I wish he hadn't been lying,
that this was a bad dream,
but money keeps us awake,
hasty hands ripping his ears,
eyes begging to close
but that's not how it's played.
I try not to breathe
not feel,
as the disgusting
need hits the roof,
each of the words
squeezed out
of their mouths,
pushing and shoving,
then breaking through
as he's sure
he's drowning,
but at least
it retreats.
feeling each letter
the fading words say,
slower and slower
til at last
It's finally over.