It hits,
Stripped off your clothes it strips you of any will to move
On a hollow stomach, it hits, and the holes in you starve more for life than for food.
The steady rhythm of life in your ear, it hits and all you hear is your heart as it drums loud to the music of the thoughts you once buried, the streaks on your cheek their graveyard,
and now they’re back with more force and more will, ready to take you with them
But you’re not ready so you kill time and let it kill you, anything but allow these thoughts to carry the weight of the crime,
instead, it rests on your body as it sinks on the bed you’ve set your throne
They tangle, unite, final blow written on their wrist but you’re never ready
Like a virus, they spread, race each other to the edge, tempting you to follow behind,

but the drumming in your ear is a reminder that you are still winning.