ninety nine percent

of the time

I’m fine but

every once in a while

it’s like my mind is on

fire and I need

a lifeline to guide

me, out of the sky

and back inside. But

my pride feeds me

lies about the eyes

of passersby and I

try not to sigh

as I shy from the type

of advice they’d supply.

“Don’t cry!”

“Just try!”

“Maybe next time!”

Not lies, just tired rhymes.

They beguile for a while

in line

with the design

of the wires

we all have to climb

just to get by

while others stockpile,

the same bile

and fake smiles

that will cause the dial of time to

stop.