Wait Too Long...

I've defied 

good common sense

which said:

cut my losses,

cut and run,

cut away this malignancy

that keeps me

out of balance,

out of luck,

out of love,

a witness to 

your lost potential;

dreaming of a former

you.

I've tiptoed around the issue,

prayed for symmetry,

searched for synergy,

begged for sympathy,

but no others see my plight

or hear my plea,

and there are no greener pastures,

bucolic landscapes

for effecting

an alternate ending

to this sordid tale.

No, I have missed my chances,

and all that I am left with

is a tenuous balance 

on the edge,

and a free fall into an open pit,

whichever way I fall.

This was written for The Sunday Whirl.