I have a rusty nail homing in, getting closer to my skin
I sit and wait the hammer blow; time is wearing thin.
Each tired second passes by, as if waiting for a bus ride.
I fear the sharp tip hov’ring near, wanting deep inside.
What madness calls it forth, why are my limbs tied tight?
How is that I sit here calm, why don’t I stand and fight?
Could it be that each step taken, slouching to this place,
Was a self-annihilation from a mind who’d lost its grace?
Yet, just as metal pierces, the hammer drops to floor!
The use of words to analyse seems to have won once more.
I’m saved again to wander and wonder at this trip.
The sun is shining brighter; the tap has ceased it drip.