Beneath my slipping feet,
loose, red rock branched off from their friends
and fell over.
They fell and fell to the ground--
a million miles away--
and made a small plop,
too faint and too far for my ears.
My hands were red,
the raised metal imprinted
tiny little dots into my palms
as they gripped on for dear life.
The sun beat down on me,
with all its might it did.
It burned my chest through
my thin, white cotton layer.
Small, occasional breezes
would flow over my chest
through my shirt--cooling it down.
They went against my neck,
bent all the way back,
keeping my body as close to the rock as possible.
Sweat trickled along my body,
getting in every crook and creak,
loosening my grips.
Sweat, it was my enemy that day.
I fought it--moving my fingers around,
scrunching my toes together.
But the more I rustled, the more anxious I became.
And with anxiety, came more sweat.
It was a losing battle from the start,
and I knew it.
So I kept my neck bent back
and looked up to the clouds,
preparing myself for the fall.
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