Last Gasp.

Grasping thinly weaved strands. Gasping on thinly available air. Clutching tightly with wilting hands. I turn my head towards falling earth. Blackening sky above. Feeling the empty fall. Dashing through space; breaking every bone. Tragic figure with a lost cause framed in cold.

Conflict.

Staggering mass conflict without thinking of possible ends. Wrapped in my own disaster wandering the fallow ways. Uncharted paths ahead. Candid sweetness failing in our conversation. Rancid word splotches cover the floor. Trying to score bitterness for pleasure; heaping scorn.