The din
In the din, I drown,
an anaesthetic amnesia,
wraps around, selflessly.
numb, selfish-deaf,
I hear only my breath,
slow and certain.
slow slow slow,
I throttle time,
it seeps and flows.
thoughts as echoes,
of moments past,
dash and go and dash.
woe descends,
from a high horse,
whips the flesh.
I wriggle and bleed,
but do not plead,
and await the lashes.
bathing in torment,
the clots dissipate,
and cleanse me away.
plotting for recompense,
the pawns play,
the sinner's game.
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