Swing, swing, swing
Knives in hands
Shivers in the bones
Body shaking
As if I am standing
On an earthquake
Swing, swing, swing
Knives in hands
Shivers in the bones
Fingers like dry twigs
Cold sweat in my stomach
Solidified, frozen
My throat, palpitating,
Keeps opening,
Pushed from within
By a heart, breaking
Unspectacularly
Warm, hot
Breathing hard
Like a little child
Breaking free
Swing, swing, swing
Knives in hands
Shivers in the bones
Sweet, sweet god
Do I got a prayer in you?
Will you squeeze me in?
How do I write
What I feel?
What I really feel?
How else should I write?
Is now the time
To graduate,
From life to death?
Best recording, not by Steve Winwood, of “Can’t Find My Way Home”:
Featured image: Conscience, Judas, by Nikolai Ge (1891), WikiArt.org
