Captured

Captured.

My heart, it beats

Like the second hand

Of a very old clock:

So slow, so heavy,

So empty of energy.

My hands, they sway

Like tattered red ribbons

Blowing away in the air:

So weak, so flimsy,

So empty of grace and beauty.

My feet, they step

Like old wood,

A cane:

So graceless, so stiff

So dull and rigid.

Your eyes, they stare

And fuel my heart

Til it pumped and pumped

And I felt my flowing blood.

Your sweat, it sears

My skin and burns my veins,

Til it ate away my fears,

And set my soul on fire.