The Final Blow

The slow motion of the air around me Is deep, still and haunting. I feel the rush of the blow finally crushing me Crackling down like fire Yet more frigid than ice. Laughing at my weakness My oblivion seems nice. The dirt on my knees welcomes my fall Telling me it has made my bed. Its cool, damp smell entices me to surrender To nothingness, where it is quiet. damp solitude never abandons The scent of filth endlessly permeating My broken soul.