The plesent, overwelecomed thud of failure
is making the backs of my eyes bruise,
and my throat sweat.
Those flashing moments of absolute regret
So what feet am I left to stand on?
The Bubbling of blood fills my bent joints;
friction, fingers pressed to temples.
Staring at nothing and seeing it all -
the stunning climax and the beautiful fall
with no arms to reach out with.
A tainted mind and a tattered soul
In a world of wishes - of meaningless goals.
Of ground we once stood, and trees we once stole.
Of bones that will heal, from the shit we are told.