You always know its too late
To save,
When that pulled-tight knot
In the pit of your stomach
Caves in,
Releasing your mind back
To that grating black pit
Of lonely sin.

I cannot let this
Swelling band of grating glass
Disintegrate me.

We run blind,
Hair blowing, arms flailing as
Blithe heart’s make a blind start
Into the sweet unknown.
Stop.
Taste the tangy so-its-sore,
Make-your-eyes-*****-up
More-than-your-contorted-face
Sweets.
Such as licorice sherbet straws.

Poor blind hearts.
Caught in the net of Time,
Sickly sweet now obsolete,
My heart starts to beat
Away from my running feet.
I don't like those straws no more.