At the edge of the world stands a man who
Stares into two dark choices
Space is arid, and dewy fresh. Crisp, fountain vapour, so you think: Canada. For no apparent reason.
Time has been lapsed out of.
It all ought to be like something you can fall off of
But there is no physical verge.
Instead, it is a verge in essence. Like dying and looking down at your body from above.
Like being given a moment of reflection in suspension,
A second chance place, where you can stare in the eye of your choices,
And truly feel futile.
The man stares, like at the mouth of a cave.
And he knows that either way, what ever befalls him,
His life has come to an end.
His time has past.
That there will be no more dreams.
No more futures.
No more endless possibilities.
The man cries and wishes he will never forget this.