Upon my speech, there was only a screech,
and that from sounds of a stutter.
With a pounding thought, my mind did breach,
to realize before me there was no other.

My eyes beheld the shine so fine,
and realized my state of fate,
running the deathly chill upon my spine.

Upon my glance, with the blade at stance,
the shine commenced to move.
Shifting its weight within a sheering state,
upon its makeshift grove.

The heavy death pitted one end, then the other,
like the flight of a swan to a beautiful song.
But this bird would never flutter.
Just gain momentum towards it's prey,
upon this table I lay.

Stains upon the shine from those thought clever,
who crossed those not meant to be crossed ever.
Those are the one's that miss today.

The shine now hence, with weightily pence,
moves to take its toll, and shear my soul.
Moving ever so closer upon its task,
moving always so closer to reach its goal.
My face now wears the deathly mask.

Above me now, just above me,
my skin is torn from this blade so worn,
to leave me in my blood to bask.
This slice so deep, the blood thus seep,
upon my self and table.
My name is no more, and my body a label.
My eyes are red, but continue to weep,
and my mind is here, but becoming unstable,
so death is the answer for which I must seek.
Upon this solution to which I am led,
I will feed the shine until I am dead.
Then they can pull my parts from this god damn table.