I walk where dying shadows touch the day, Upon a crumbling ledge above the night; The world below whispers me away, Yet dawn still bruises the horizon with light. The wind recites the names I try to forget, Of ghosts that haunt the chambers of my mind; Each breath becomes another dark regret, Each step a thread that frays and will not bind. I stand between the darkness and the flame, Too tired to flee, yet too stubborn to run, Despair has learned the letters of my name, And waits like winter beneath a cold white sun. Yet somewhere in the silence, the end is not set A single ember whispers: not yet.
