What is this vision of death before me?
is this what they call the end?
this figure dressed as winter’s breath
who gives a loving push over the edge
I see, myself falling
falling off this cliff top
with lines of confusion weaving to and fro
when did I begin to wear knitted jumpers with misshapen cats sitting on my chest
flexing their paws
my fingers outstretch towards the sky
my head splits on a rock
the sun would never go down