Falling

Help me, I'm falling,
not from a ledge,
a window, or
into depression,
a pit of the soul.

I'm falling in love,
the wrong kind,
formed from the joining
of two bodies
not two hearts.

Help me, I'm falling
off the pedestal
I had built for myself.
Now the disheartening statistic,
no longer the high standard.

I thought he'd catch me.
He had started to weave
the safety net yesterday
when he watched me,
helped me,
start to plummet.

Today the net is missing.
I can't tell if he
never finished it or
if I had never really seen one.

I could have sworn I heard the echo
of the promises made a lifetime,
or was it a heartbeat, ago.

I was sure I felt the heat
from some long buried
embers of the fire
that used to flare so bright.

The echo is now silent.
No joyous love resounds
off the cold chambers
surrounding the unkindled ashes.

The only sounds I hear
are the empty winds
rushing past as I plunge,
and my cries as I realize
how quickly I tumble.

My fall must be broken,
my dive to end by
crashing headlong into the
stone floor of loneliness,
the dismal ruins from my life
going up in smoke,
or worse yet,
the crater of Hell.