Why

Why is it that

when falling a trillion feet

from the sky into hell,

I seem to have

all the time in the world

to revel in my mistakes?

Why is it that

as I'm falling,

I think of all the things

I should have done?

Why is it that

the world moves slower

when it's rushing past?

Why is it that I

can't find myself

in this haze of silver mist,

where people lie in wait

to kidnap my individuality?

Why is it that

it takes a razor blade to feel?

This is what I think

when I fall into the hole.

The valley, the ditch, the ravine

that I have carved into my wrist.

I never knew I could fall

so many times.