Faceless
The second hand flows smoothly
then sticks to the black eight like the shipwrecked to the last raft,
the last hope,
before heading back to twelve.
Doomed to repeat,
dizzy from the endless heat,
this all seems all too familiar.
Me,
like this,
and those who bared their fangs are now
at my throat ready to bite down,
clamp on sweet victory over the evil
that terrorized their lives.
I think this fate is fair.