I do not know which way to go,
the signs all look the same;
There is no predefined – start or finish line,
no daybreak to the night.
I cannot figure my own grip on the trigger,
wrapped tightly into a metallic weave.
It’s hard to define which pieces are mine,
and when I can, I choose not to perceive.
Sniper’s spiders scatter like exploding dark matter,
upon the highest points, looking down at me;
My heart beats like a drum into dead woman’s hum,
and then darkness falls all around me.