where the writers are

No phone rings, quiet I sit waiting
For a might have been, illusions
Hold off the inevitable breakdown
The pain like a needle in my vein.

Blood, such a tiny drop, how can
This be everything, beginning and
End? Slow it flows, slow as thought,
Slow as my heartbeat, fading.

The hammer strikes, I ring, the crack
Grows. Metal screams, the pressure now
Too much to take, the breaking now
All it is, all I am, is everything.

On the edge of vision, shadows whisper
Only seconds to wait, one last pulse
Pushing the thought out of me, please
Let this at last bring me forgetfulness.