|picture credit: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Submit-177516848|
I ‘m being strangled by the hand around my throat,
my body crushed against the rough brick wall,
until motion is reduced to just the panic in my eyes
and my chest is nearly bursting, as the turning point arise.
Yet the hold does not let go, every muscle remains tense
‘til you see the panic turn to craving that which you dispense.
It’s a calculated choice I make to step into the whirl,
even knowing that it is the end, next stop – the underworld.