I’m on the edge of the world and I can see through the fog, with the same holy eyes as Jesus on the cross
I’m on the edge of my life as it gets harder to breathe, so I get jealous of wind blowing through the trees
I’m on the edge my mind but I am under control, that kind of insanity that comes with getting old
I’m on the edge of the ledge that looks over it all, I don’t know if I should jump or if I’ll just fall
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem