The Edge

When the shackled words were finally free,
They sounded so much like tragedy,
For something beautiful had wilted and died,

Silence descended like the night,
Heavy and distinct,
Like a fortress built of things unsaid,

I never felt the drop,
As the ground beneath me surrendered,
Descending into the bottomless moat,
Nothing to collide with and break the fall,

Those words have etched their memory,
Like sleep wrinkles across my porcelain skin,
A memento,
Of what might have been,

You were the edge I slipped over,
The edge of reason,
The edge of hope,
The fortress that protects me no more.