This is one of the old creations of my friend.whom I dearly love to death. He creates beauty out of sorrow. Something not everyone can do.

The arrogance of you
to believe that the world is round
and that we could just argue in circles
and that i will never find a way out.
But you see, i’ve checked
and found an edge to this,
to us:
A precipice lined with sharp rocks
and angry words,
and thick tears that from your eyes fell slowly once
and hardened into stalactites,
sharp and cunning like little daggers.
I jump, knowing that i will likely be
mangled and dismembered
in the descent,
but then i should be so lucky
to have to be in pieces
to feel so whole.
I checked and realized
that i would prefer the edge of the world
over your viciously cyclical murders;
that i am fed up and could just jump off and out of the way.
The arrogance of you to force me into your theory.

The world is only round so long as i love you.
What then, now that i don’t?

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