On Verge
Have you ever jumped in and out of your skin?
Found yourself on top of a hill with no shade to stand under, the skin around your lips and eyes starts to crack and peel. Don’t you wish for one moment you could simply have a hand to cover the glare and give you a screen, to sooth them for just one instant and feel a breath of relief.
Have you ever bled without pain?
You are soiled red but the gates of pain are simply numb. You simply watch the drops stain. If only a hand could compress the hurt and brake the flow of this rouge river game.
Have you ever spat words of scorn? Only to discover it was a feeble attempt that bounced the daggers back at your wall of ice. They simply echo back, the acid splatters in your face. You regret what you said; you wish you were dead.
Have you ever defied your own line of fire? You’ve broken down your walls of guard and allowed trespassers to rape your morals. If only a hand could pull you back and tug you in, the rules you made would still be in.
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