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Jun 2019
A steady heartbeat,
A silent breath,
A Slowing clock.

They’re watching; waiting.
Take the shot, Take the cup.

The timer counts down
3..2..1

Shatter.

Vision blurred
Heart racing
Sweat dripping
Head swaying
The floor rises

Thump.

They’re watching; running.
Come on, get up. Take the shot.

Silence. Darkness. Peace.


Flashing lights
Sirens crying; howling
Voices everywhere
Hands touching

Weightless
Rising
Up
Up
And in.

Count down for me
3..2..1
Sleep.
.
.
.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
Open your eyes, Take the shot.

Dimly lit, shed the tears.

Weak
Afraid
Lost
Confused

Beep.

Mother’s here
Don’t leave me, dear

Beep.

Did we win

Beep.

You took the shot.

Beep. Beep. Beep.
3..2..1
Sleep.
This started with the image of tiny melancholic glass shards tinkering to the ground, perhaps as though in defeat. That image was condensed into a single word, shatter. And from there the poem grew.
Anthony Smith
Written by
Anthony Smith  24/M/Montana
(24/M/Montana)   
177
 
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