Falling

I can see myself falling, Falling from the peak of the mountain right in front of me. I reach out to myself, Reach out to catch myself but my palm isn't big enough to cushion my fall. I'm witnessing my own death, Witnessing my own death, and there's nothing I can do about it. It's an endless cycle, An endless cycle that sucks the life out of me with the Reaper's own fangs. Each time my body slams against the ground I can see the pain in my own eyes, The pain in my own eyes that nobody else knows enough to see. Every fatal fall dims the light in my soul little by little, Little by little until there's nothing but darkness in this world for me. As I slip down between my own scissoring fingers, my own skin cuts sores into my body, My body that doesn't even feel like my own anymore. I could probably catch myself if I wanted to, But do I want to?