Suicide

Skyward to the thirteenth floor
Is it unlucky, or is it not.
I clamber up in predicted demise, 
Up the railing in sight; 
The cold and swaying breeze blows
A fallen star to hug the earth.

Stagger as I might in conspiracy, 
Mulling over what has led me
Here.
Over the edge, yet still hanging on,
In blatant greed of life,
I call my excited audience to the front seats.

I wait.

But don't get me wrong, I really did intend
To take the ironic plunge-

Leading me to the earth of life,
And thereafter find death.

What I'd been through was forced under a microscope,
And in that moment:
Every pain was distorted.

The contemplation wearies me,
As I call evidence for my being.
Would someone save me? I wishfully enquired.

At then I decided I was merely foolish
And at this point I made my way down

Back home, using the stairway.
It may have been a show,
It may have been a cliffhanger,
But the turmoil was truth
As I clambered to find myself.

Was it the splendid image of myself
Laying spread out on concrete
Like a animal fur rug
With ketchup all over,
That made me rethink my premature end?

The image churns in my mind till now.
But the question pierces through
Everyone of our eyes.

Whether being alive is living;
The final answer lays clue
In you and I.