Crashed

Whirling this sabre is tiring, Cutting shapes out of the air, Slicing images out of the sky. So, now to fix faulty wiring, Focus the current repair, Shoot up with needles and fly. Climbing the stairwell is draining, Think I’ll rest on the block, Cooking my suppertime spoon. Sinews and veins are straining, What a rush, what an almighty shock, Flying away to the moon. Blue lights are distantly flashing, Cutting a path through the slums, Haley’s comet on wheels. “Give me a line, he is crashing!” Heartbeat like splintering drums, So, this is how dying feels. Monitors beep, pumps are pumping, Adrenaline stabbed in the chest, Eyes fixed a dilated stare. A thought as the blood ceases thumping, A viewpoint of ghostly unrest, Is that me lying dead down there?