Vertigo
The taste of the possible drop--
wavering meat of a thousand
plunging suicides,
metallic tang
of crushed car hoods,
gritty
specks of crumbling cement pressed
through the falling skin.
Knees quake
on the slippery metal rungs,
birthing a thousand tumbling
scenarios,
one for each fear-multiplied
foot
to the ground that,
through spinning
imagination,
becomes creeping darkness flooding
vision
and grasps with
gravity's fingers
at still-shuddering
feet.
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