The contours of that steep decline:
Bumps to cause bruises
'cross a jutting Mountain spine.
You will be left as carrion
Once you've fallen from the crest.
Honey don't you know by now,
You're no climber,
And this is Everest.
What, so I'll spend the rest of my life running from and dodging expectations? Shall I throw this in the cauldron and hope for a mediocre brew then? Well that depends. What am I?