Sometimes, at 2am, I am holding on for dear life.
I am one last millisecond away from letting go and being washed away
It burns away come the morning light. Every time. Without fail.
And I know it will, even while it rages; I know.
The edge though is a sharp one. Precarious, teasing, blinding, lonely, giddy, ancient
The magnitude is just so huge it’s a tidal wave, an earthquake, a living breathing storm of never-ending
Tip. Tip. Tip