Casting Red Line

"If you're the type to cut the strings, then I'm the one that falls with the pieces in my hands; it's always happened before, and it'll happen a million times more. There's no doubt."

I found something,
 A red thread.
  Picking it up; a slim and shining thing,
   Pretty and unique.
    I follow its trail,
     Curious.
      Feet quicker, quicker now,
     The ground turns to gravel
    And it becomes even the further I go,
   But I stop
   Reaching an embankment,
    I refuse to that be the end of it;
     The thread goes further,
       So I'll climb it.
         But it reaches high, higher now,
         I feel the air thin, and shy,
          I'm happy with excitement,
           Still it looks to be unending,
            Oh, I don't care, I'll climb further,
           The heat of the thread warming my hands.
            But it is far too hot now. Far too hot.
             The thread and my fingers,
              With molten heat, have molded together,
               Stuck and helpless.
                I tread up the hill, faster, higher,
                 Scared and desperate,
               They must part, shouldn't they?
              But they are hopeless to break.
          Then my feet hold nothing.
        The air slides through me,
      Burning my eyes
        Dropping my stomach
         And I slam against a wall
           A wall of granite
             Scratches bleed
              And the sore turn colors
              But my hands still hold that thread,
            Hold it for dear life,
            As I dangle here
          Alone on this cliff face.
       Then you are here.
        I see you there, standing over the edges,
        Watching me,
         Not moving.
          I call out,
           My words lost in the distance,
            My throat closed from the lack of air,
             And I can feel it,
              I can feel the thread turn to iron,
            Turn to coils,
          Their edges rough and scarring.
         I cry in pain,
        In fear,
         And again I call for you.
         You still stand steadily gazing over me.
          But bend forward to look me in the eyes,
           And I see the eyes of someone I do not know;
            Someone who hates;
             Someone who doesn't care;
              Someone who is dead to me.
               I see the silver, shiver through the air,
                But I can only whine in protest,
                The words I know that won't penetrate you,
              And you snip the line.
           My hands still gripping the red thread as if it could help me now,
           Further and further I fall,
        Shreds of red follow close behind
       Looking like waving scars.
    Closer to earth,
   To the hard stony ground,
    To the world so harsh and desolate,
    With nothing to soften the landing, I know I won't make it.




Finally, I hit.

Author's Note

Something about loosing someone, anyone, close to you. It's harsh and hard when you come back from the high.
Alright, I'll confess; I had fun making the text weird. X) It's supposed to look like ribbion blowing.
Thanks for reading! Tell me what you think!

Reviews

[PurpleQuartz]

The way you wrote this was so different and amazing! I love how you wrote it! GREAT POEM!

[Ripple of Aqua]

Thanks PrpleQuartz!

[MandaBear]

This was a great poem. Loosing someone sucks but some how we have to learn to move on it might take a while but it will happen. Great poem.