over the hill, onto the bridge

Over the hill,   Through the soft purple wildflowers  Growing in the unkept grass of the field,   Is tbe bridge.  A famous bridge,  A sinister one,    Where many people have over the years                     go to die. I srand,  Piering over the edge,  Looking at the concrete do far down below, I can't help but think of it.                 I can't help but wonder                 How many bodies have laid                       Right at the ground below me.      I notice my body leaning heavily against the railing.      I wonder if anyone              Has stood where I am now,                 Simply let themself fall forward                       Onto the pavement below?        I stare, transfixed              And I wonder