Thrills And Chills

Once again
one is learning how close
to an edge — cliff
or knife — one can get
before committing.

Climbing down, coming back
from that leaves one
breathless, as if
the act itself would not
have done that better
and left one more stable and
arguably in better shape.

Let’s do it
again and again
till we finally blow it,
says the Other,
a diamond point tool 
in its hand
as it carves
another itty-bitty notch
on some weakened
crucial bone. 

Who’s we, another voice
asks the drill bit.

I’m carried along with you
unwilling, hoping for closure
when you finally slash or leap;

a sense of finality
that will then end
in minutes or seconds,
depending on your follow thru.

After that passes,
no one knows if it
will hurt or heal.

Not hoping
to learn it soon, but
I suppose
that if you come here again.
I will be there. 

Deal, says the Other.

One comes back
to dulled life and 
is whole again
for now.