One-thousand feet high,
less than an inch to stand on,
that feeling of your guts coming up,
through your throat.
Air,
I need air.
I can’t breathe up here,
My throat like walls are closing in on themselves,
My heart is going ninety miles an hour.
My thoughts are as scrambled as freshly cooked eggs,
for breakfast to a family of five.
I walk forward on the unsteady rope.
Close my eyes,
Breathe,
Next thing to do is take the leap,
You know the kind where you hope and pray everything will work out but,
You have no idea what you’re doing.
Jump,
Unsure if you will land or fly.