Precipice of Suspicion

Upon my precipice
of suspicion,
I gnaw at the vines that sustain
like mice who eat the dead.

Below, I would like to fall into
the chaotic trust of the rocky shore below.

As I sharpen my teeth against the stone
so to tear the vines from me,
the slight drizzle of rain runs
down my face to the sea below,
which will soon consume me.