It felt as if I was endlessly careening.
Spiraling downwards among ripping winds;
my eyes helplessly watched everywhere I'd been
float upwards like they were only a passing dream.

Breath too bated. Choked throat. Unable to scream.
Lethargic and spent, nerves in rapid descent
with hands, white-knuckled, too cold to close when
threads unraveled, began to come apart at the seams.

Springtimes's last blossom is always just as sweet,
even if it's the harbinger of flower's final fears.
Let me land among fresh dew to enter listless sleep.
Like the petal fallen from it's tree I'm now-incomplete,
cascading to a callous ground as winter's jaws near
knuckles too used and weak, to grip what I must keep.