The Poetry Marathon

i held on to the ledge so tightly

i saw the sludge pooled below

staring back. my ankles dangled

for so long. bracelets slipping

polish chipping god i just want

to fall off and be swallowed

but i can’t let myself let go

me, 30, perpetually congested

bloodshot. spotty. under-cautious

cottonmouth foggy too much

air in my brain- teary, fearful

of the future