Knife in the back

Can’t breath.

Fall to my knees crying out

Can’t move.

Cold,

Lifeless,

Motionless.

Motionless, like the sea on a calm day

or the calm before a storm.

Something is coming, but not even I knows when.

Only when the stars align will time begin to move.

The knife will be removed,

and I will be able to breath,

I will be able to move,

I will be able.