Trying a different form this time. Not really thinking straight about this.
Guillotine
On his knees he waits. Head mounted. Blade sharpened. Trapped in the scaffold.He knew he had sinned. There was no denial. He ears are alert. They yearned for hortseshoe clatter. A messenger? A message to call off the blades. A pardon. He wanted to live. Right the wrongs. The sun is bright. Sweat that couldn't be wiped. Each passing second is agony. Ambivalent vitality. His existence, in transition. Sweat. Sun. Agony. Sweat. Sun. Agony. Remorse. Guilt. Filth. He couldn't take it anymore. He had sinned. He knew his crime. His demons they were till now. Now he was one. He wanted escape. Escape from the wait. Escape from himself. Escape from the guilt. Escape from the demon. He wanted it all to end. Sweat. Sun. Agony. End. Quick. The noise inside him is too loud. Kill me now he thinks. The wait is agonizing, terrorizing, mortifying. Drop the blade now he begs. Free me from myself. No longer he cared for the messenger. Death's an escape. Escape from his own skin. Unbearable. No longer he wanted another chance. Noise. Defeaning. Too loud. Sweat. Sun. Agony. Could he hear the horses come? He didn't care. What romance is better, than that with death? On his knees he waits, waits for his swift steel justice.
Guillotine
On his knees he waits. Head mounted. Blade sharpened. Trapped in the scaffold.He knew he had sinned. There was no denial. He ears are alert. They yearned for hortseshoe clatter. A messenger? A message to call off the blades. A pardon. He wanted to live. Right the wrongs. The sun is bright. Sweat that couldn't be wiped. Each passing second is agony. Ambivalent vitality. His existence, in transition. Sweat. Sun. Agony. Sweat. Sun. Agony. Remorse. Guilt. Filth. He couldn't take it anymore. He had sinned. He knew his crime. His demons they were till now. Now he was one. He wanted escape. Escape from the wait. Escape from himself. Escape from the guilt. Escape from the demon. He wanted it all to end. Sweat. Sun. Agony. End. Quick. The noise inside him is too loud. Kill me now he thinks. The wait is agonizing, terrorizing, mortifying. Drop the blade now he begs. Free me from myself. No longer he cared for the messenger. Death's an escape. Escape from his own skin. Unbearable. No longer he wanted another chance. Noise. Defeaning. Too loud. Sweat. Sun. Agony. Could he hear the horses come? He didn't care. What romance is better, than that with death? On his knees he waits, waits for his swift steel justice.
