Falling Down

The wind does not whip my face,
As I fall away from grace.
It really is no fall at all.

A slow elevator does descend,
Stopping at each apartment,
Taking more spectators along.

Some they watch with interests vested,
others, distracted, tweeted. Jested.
Like the crowds at the previews of Fall.

This is Falling. Falling down.
Each new day you break low ground.
Sinking into black abyss.

While you patiently wait, do remember to cooperate.
The bottom is far as you move along, sedate.
This is not an exit.

When it's over, it will be a mess.
Excused, perhaps, by drunkenness.
Though escape will still elude.