Standing on the edge and looking down,
it’s a horrifying experience to see,
the sheer drop, as if the ground below,
is transient, shall give way any moment.

Hanging on for dear life to the edge,
barely gripping the precarious precipice,
Each moment drags on, seconds are hours,
Yet holding on is the only way, only option.

At a juncture such as this, two options exist,
One of them is to fall, surrender to fatigue.
Let the warmth of tiredness’ embrace be felt,
contrasting with the whipping, stinging wind.

The other, however, is mighty difficult,
as your grip gets more loose every second.
For a moment let fire surge through you,
and in a flash, pull yourself away from the edge.

The difference between the two mentioned above,
it’s simple, really. The difference is you.
The fall could help you away from pain,
but pulling up only leads to more such edges.

Why do we hate pain, our misunderstood
brother? He does nothing but help us.
Pain helps us decide our own worth,
Me against me, who has the guts to win.

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