Hanging on the edge of a cliff

An ancient root grows from the dry dirt

Cracking

Breaking

Carefully

Trying

To

Creep

Towards

The

Edge

To escape

To safety

Using enough strength to reach safety

But careful of the gravity

Pulling me down into a deadly free fall

Grip hard

But not too hard so that the root breaks

My only aid

Almost there

Reach the edge

Rise up

Onto the surface

An unfriendly hand

Clean, smooth, manicured

Grabs mine

Splintered and blistered

The enemy is laughing

I am screaming

The enemy lets go of my hands and snaps the root,

My only aid in the past

I drop

But I grab on someplace else.