Tightrope

Walking on a tightrope, both ends frayed,

living in the poorly-crafted world I made,

hoping with each step I take,

each word I fake,

I end up somewhere else.

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Spending every day without myself,

dreaming nights away of someone else,

reaching towards its light, I see

what I can be:

left alone in darkness.

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Walking on a tightrope—now unraveled,

treading on what feels like gravel,

hoping with each step I take,

each dreary ache,

that it may be the last.

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