POETRY

An Argument With Myself

Who loves to dance on the dangerous edge

Dangerous beauty, the fragile edge. Image credit/u_o3e5v42biz via Pixabay

I argued with myself today,
because I never listen.
What the hell are you doing?
I asked me.
(I was even rude).
What the living hell
are you thinking, you fool?
Thinking too much
or not enough?
At all?

Why are you
wandering around
in that damn gray fog?
What wild dream is
calling your name
this time?
No sense of direction,
can’t see where
you’re going —
Is that where you want
to live? I thought we
already decided, already
agreed
that you did not.
Didn’t we?

Where the hell are you going?
I shouted quietly.
Come back from there!
Get away from
that edge, that place
where only
the ambivalent, shadowy
birds of prey fly,
and the warm sun
never reaches.