Falling

Floating above the white pasty clouds
Awaiting my earth crashing fall.
Nothing is as sharp as the blade
Of your tongue
Speaking such saccharine words
Lost in a meadow with no sign
Of left or right
Treacherous walking
A dangerous path for the
Disheveled and bland hearted.
These clouds aren't as soft as they
Had originally appeared to be.
They are savage beings
With skin like jagged glass
With words that ooze poison.
I'd give nothing to feel
Their blades pierce my fragile state.
I'm weighed down with my fears
Overwhelmed by my seeded doubts.
The hard earth is looming into
My distorted view
I accept this death with open
Arms waiting to embrace.