Hanging on once more by a thread
no place to stand or to tread
Waiting for the coming provocation
the devils advocation
a final complication
Twisting, turning, surrounded by fools
which ever direction, nowhere to cool
just more fire burning fuel
Held up still, and moved by strings
to this, that and other things
To me, future nothing brings
Cutting the cord and falling to the ground
a silent, yet deafening sound
of gasps all around
Nothing to land on, nowhere to take my rest
pursuing life, yet with a desperate zest
Now only at the devils behest.
Awaiting the terminal request.
My last conquest:
The departing heave of my chest.