I don’t know how to make you understand
That this is not at all who I am.
Should I contemplate death by my own hand,
That is my crying wolf for a lone lamb.
None the braver but to peer off an edge,
Pounding hearts the veritable whisper,
Exposing my false empty words of fledge.
Time to right wrongs, I silently whimper.
Time to heal wounds I hoard like a miser.
Time to fall, time to end, time to begin again.
Yet time does make me none the wiser.
A wish to will a way, with much chagrin,
An exit from life’s winding labyrinth.