I am cornered by his hands
grazing a wall of thoughts
that are racing, racing
as though time is no longer
running, but sprinting
as though time is now
Usain Bolt.
I am taut, my muscles are
looking for an exit, an escape
from this bell jar, locked
in my mental cage
with his hands.
My mind is a maelstrom
panic pulling me under, I am
cornered, I am disappearing
fast, faster than I can imagine
because time is Usain Bolt
I am powerless and struggling
and there are hands in my bell jar
hands in my bell jar.
I strike. I strike hard
I see red, my muscles are
taut. I see red. Blood,
mine. I am fighting the
hands, fighting the
maelstrom. I am fighting
myself.