Deadly - Poetry

The winner is subjective

There's this dream I have where we're both standing on the edge of a roof, the ground resting miles away from us. You are very serious as always, like you're concentrating on something, I like to believe your memorizing me. Is that too much to ask? In that dream the sky is pink and purple and my hair sways with the wind as you kiss me, in that way only you can kiss, almost automatically. I hate that about you.
Yet I let you kiss me because we're a step away from death and the ground is a thousand miles away, along with all the problems I've become an expert at ignoring, even with you constantly reminding me, reality doesn't work with me.
So we're standing on that roof, and you grab my shoulders, surprisingly you cry. I have never seen you cry, except for that time your mother was a little too intoxicated and we pretended we were dead and didn't move for hours, until we burst out laughing and we called the tears in your eyes allergies. I diagnosed you with an allergy to family bullshit. You nodded like you truly believed me.

But when we're here on the roof I proclaim you cured
As you push me
I fall
I fall for miles
With the weight of your tears in my chest
And we burst out laughing one last time
I laugh so hard I think I might die
You cry for me and I laugh because if anyone was falling off the roof I never thought it would be me
I pathetically hope you'll jump in after me
But of the two of us only one had their feet on the ground
It wasn't me
It really wasn't
I guess we were never but a game, to see who'd hit the bottom first
If it's a race
I win