i was never good at being there
never good at holding up
or staying still

and now with regret in my hands
i let go
jump off the cliff
without looking
as usual

no thought to damages done
no thought to consequence
or mistakes made

and for all of it
i look down
see the ground
getting closer

and wonder
if there is still time
for one last

cigarette.

she shatters on the ground
like a china doll
held the wrong way

persistence of time
aging
living

so much of it false
that it marks the soul
red with contempt

flowered
like a rose

dying
bleeding out
and yet never feeling

a damn thing.