i spoke in a thousand tongues
and they spoke in silent scripts,
swirling tattoos on rippled skin.

we reached the edge, the end, no-man's land
and still they tried to convince me
to take just one more step,
that a step could not kill,
except on the way down, free-falling,
and i rarely keep a parachute handy
(i like both feet on the ground).

they made the "shh" sound of secrets,
those who spoke
of flying and wings
and leaping tall(est) buildings
in a single bound.

i scratched my will in the dry earth
away from their metallic tongues,
they screamed and it went into the bones
of all the matter that surrounded our
(non)dialogue.

my eyes were darkest pinpricks,
blood coagulated to resemble
the deepest, most troubled passion.
they (the screamers) lost the place of my pupils,
and fell into the sea,
an ocean that mirrored my world
and never touched the one
they convinced themselves to see.

i wondered if i should extend an arm,
if they could believe in it long enough
to find strength in human value.
i hesitated and then pondered,
i watched and fought my inner demons
(who resembled angels
begging me to forgive and forget)
and before my mind could take control
my arm shot out,
not serpent, nor saviour,
just a human bridge

that no mouth, nor words could ever build.