of nothing in particular

unanswered

uneven graves dug up and planted along the shore

chipped and knotted roots sprawling down the cliffside

the wind is cold and unpleasant, stinging at my eyes 

but i suppose it makes me all the more sober

my bare feet grip at the rough wood and rock

as i lean ever closer to the edge, tilting, lilting, peering down

what would happen if i just let go?

the wind gave no reply, nor the crashing waves or cloudy sky

worst of all, neither did the voice inside

that voice that always seems to have something to give

it was silent as though it were not even there at all

and i thought that maybe that made the answer all the more enticing

but instead i remained unsure and carefully stepped away

wilting beneath the weight that always comes with living

the unequivocal reality of that very moment descending

and immediately accompanied by the ever present regrets

no matter how disregarded they become

there they were, loud and clear and present

and i shrink surrounded by that bitterness and wonder

what it means to be free