at the edge

Friends that find me here
at the edge of the volcano,
balanced on one heel,
are quick to offer the steady hand
and the knowing nod.
Relax.  I have already heard
the warning shots trumpet
like a fanfare from the symphony
of self preservation,
and it doesn't insulate me
from molten heat
or save me from the fall
if I lose friction.
The game has always been fixed
but that's because the rules are broken.
Everyone wants to win 
even if their desires remain unspoken.
So all you can do is wish me luck
and, if I slip and tumble below the rim;
if I disappear from
this place of spectator safety,
say adios and console yourselves
by knowing I'll only get what I deserve.
But all I have is worthless
until I have given it away.