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The wind blows from below,
your heart a basion of dark memories,
your mind harbors thoughts and feelings of pain and death,
You're so wrapped up in your self you do not see me.

I am the one who wears the cheshire cats smile,
I am the one who finds mortality a game,
I am the one when you call for reliefe,
I am the one who comes to play.

At my leasure, before you leap, I make my self known,
'Are you giving up?' I may ask,
'This is none of yoru buisness' you may scream,
I chuckle and you cry harder.
From behind I whisper, 'then do it.'

You hesitate,
fear grips your breast,
a tear rolls down you face,
you step back.

MY presence was known, you are weak.
To give up is to be weak,
but what has made you weak,
to step up or step down.