it swirls inside me
nothing i can do;
locked in a room and nothing but a light-
hearing the blade swinging round and round
a powerful swosh like top of nike hill
falling;
shaking with floating pieces of a being
i can’t make out
and everything goes black-
falling to pieces breaking bread with an unknown substance
racing the floor punishing like grapes meant to be wine
it’s not fine the blade has spoken
a mango blast
a tango last
Saint's Muse 