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

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.

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.