The drum is beating,
beating, beating,
sound within my chest,

and all the waves
of a thousand oceans
could not make it rest.

In and out
the blood will flow,
until the rivers
upward go.

Thumping, thumping.
Living pain
will scream out
as a crimson stain.

From top to toe
the banks will crumble,
into the water
earth will tumble,

seeking safety on a path
as insecure as life,
but finding pretty pictures
on a sharpened paper knife.