Drop

On the rim,

Of red rock canyons.

Above a stomach curdling drop,

Into a bed of sharp rock.

Below the bright blue,

Sun stamped sky.

These colors will be

The last I see.

My wish will be granted.

I can already feel,

The snap of my knees.

I can already hear,

The wet crack of my skull.

I already see my blood,

Painting red on red.

Feel to the cool shade of death,

Replace the hot dread of life.

My wish will be granted.

But I don’t understand,

Why my knees wobble,

As I shuffle closer.

Why my brain hums,

As the end creeps closer.

My breath draws ragged.

Dragging my eyes back,

Up to the sky,

The sun on my cheeks.

I blindly,

Step forward.

My wish was to fly.

But my wish was not granted.