GuapaTheSuperPanda

I'm standing on the edge, thinking no one will ever know The cool wind blows, and caresses my toes I could end it all, with this one fall I'm standing on the edge, wishing I was dead I could end it all, with this one simple fall and no one would care or miss me at all I'm standing on the edge looking down I know it'll be over when I hit the ground Tears stream down my face, as I think of leaving this place forever... I'm standing on the edge thinking of all who care It wouldn't be fair to just leave them here To cope with my loss and blame themselves They never knew so they couldn't help I step back from the edge and fall to my knees I

“What if I fall?” “Oh, my darling, what if you fly?” I ponder this often. Probably much more than I should. I recently stumbled upon it again while scrolling through my Facebook news feed. I recall someone telling me something along these lines at one time. When I was young I had an art teacher (well everyone has one in public school, right?) Anyways this particular woman wasn’t just there for a pay check like some teachers nowadays she was there because she had a passion for art. I remember when she encouraged me to try out for a program called step art. It was a summer thing that provided various semi advanced

    Emerald green eyes stare blankly at a painted ceiling. Hair, like snow, falls across a cream pillow. She lays there in an unresponsive state, her body moves only slightly. This movement is in the form of a knee steadily rocking side to side to an unknown tempo and her fingers moving occasionally as if she were playing something on a stringed instrument. She stays like this for hours on end, suspended between reality and a dream.    She taught herself this trick, a way to escape when nothing else worked. When the art and the words became too jumbled to be of any use or when her focus was shot and she couldn’t escape through literat