friend,

have you ever been there,

at the end of the rope,

with tension gripping your skin

wondering what way out,

what way out there was,

for the convict who seemingly had it all? 

"life isn't clean, it isn't clear cut."

I know, I respond, but that rope

it brushes, frayed against my skin.

friend,

you blink tears away

each one containing a memory

of the person you used to be.

you mourn, for you lost them

long, long ago. what a shame.

the air is still, warm, calm.

in any other reality, it'd be a good day

but the rope is pulling tight,

coarse and frayed. 

in any other reality, it'd be a good day.

what would it have been like,

to have one last good day?

- m.j.m