We fall under the collapsing weight of an insignificant pressure coming from that which is around you,

you cast me down while you built yourself upon a throne made of my teeth,

you called it a pittance owed,

for the rapture passed through which was,

but in reality it was a femoral artery,

sliced to near perfection,

a muse with broken skin,

a face swollen and sore,

you placed me in your circle,

just to make me endure a penance that wasn’t mine...