My life feels like a black hole, I’m standing on the cliffs edge,
Contemplating taking the dive, not that I’m out of control, or daringly stupid,
Just that distracted thoughts often wonder what’s at the base of the hole.
Curiosity is a strange experience really, one minute you’re living a normal life,
Then the next, something occurs, which knocks you slightly off balance.
You feel as though you’re falling, although to others you’re still standing,
It takes others longer to understand this behaviour,
Sometimes they may exchange a glance or a frown,
But others just assume that every thing is okay,
Perhaps it’s others, that are standing on the cliffs edge.
You see people are really complex creatures,
So many emotions and expressions; probably too many,
That’s why people find it so difficult to read beyond the cover of others.
People are like books, full of many chapters,
The beginning, the middle, the end,
What else is there, a bend a kink or a hidden corner?
Just like a book, so that’s what I am,
Standing on the cliffs edge,
Waiting for the contents to explain themselves to me,
But do contents really do that, or is it an illusion to get people to explore,
Just like a book, that’s what we are,
Now I understand,
I wait patiently for someone to read me, and draw the right conclusion,
As all the other books,
I’m hard on the outside and soft on the inside,
And the black hole still awaits its next victim.