I am on the edge, and my foot is slipping.
I'm surprised I haven't fallen.
I can see people at the bottom,
Pleading with me to stop.
I wonder if they can actually see me.
I wonder,
If they know I have black hair,
And blue eyes.
I wonder if the traffic stopped,
Because they see a boy.
A boy who knows exactly what the fuck he is doing.
I am on the edge, and my foot is slipping.
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Question: Apples or Oranges.
