Tipping Points

My life is a never-ending story of choice—

Should I stay in this room,

where the walls press in like they know my thoughts,

or walk out, disappear into the street's blind chaos?

Do I tell him, with words that feel like stones,

or let him learn the hard way,

like watching a ship sink from the shore?

Will I hold on to that last word we shared

or leave it behind like a coat I don’t need anymore?

Am I brave enough to push the button,

release the pull,

and watch as everything collapses inward,

my world shrinking to a point of no return—

a black hole, dragging even light

into its endless mouth?

Wish I knew the best thing to do.

If I thought like him,

I’d turn away without a second glance,

shrug it off like it’s nothing at all.

But I don’t carry that weightlessness,

I carry the heaviness of every choice.

I’m not like him—

I stop and break things open,

I overthink until it all makes sense.

I am me—

the one who weighs every word,

the one who feels the universe tip,

even in silence.