...I stand above, not that far...
I step down, my eyes gone crimson.
I crash to the floor, my tears creating a puddle.
My hands begin to quiver, unable to control...
...Wet, salty tears, enough to drown in...
I have no one, I am alone, and I am tired.
I have done so much harm, but it is like I cannot stop.
This is my resolution...
...It is no question, my rope is thinning...
I slowly gather myself, and lurch to my feet.
Cannot focus properly, I slump down to the floor.
Trying to regain myself, through my rushing tears...
...The die has been cast... waiting for the verdict...
I feel my heart... still beating away.
I wipe away my tears and get up.
Taking a deep breath, I stand strong...
...The roll completed, the face number... Four...
I slowly step back up, I grab onto it.
Fit my head through, and tighten.
I kick the chair away...
...'Number Four, the Asian homonym for... Death'...
'The Lord has forgiveness, but not for you my son, I am sorry.'
Morgan Siegel
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/as-long-as-it-takes/
