I am worked up. My face is red from embarrassment.
I am let down. Hanging around my own faults and fears and not good enoughs.
And where is perfection, the only answer, the victory glass?
Is it a fiction?
Did i pass it? Did i forget? Did i walk only to meet my last breath?

Heart attacks come suddenly.
Sometimes before, we cannot see, what builds up to be, a clog in an artery.
A death.

My breath, comes out of me, like an outwards gasp.
And there is no satisfactory passing grade that efforts fade and fail to reach.
But this was an artwork.
Not an artery, not a spasm.
This was a picture.
A misty clouded, dream.

So i shout to the wisdom,
That says give up and love in-
Side of your puzzlement
The blessed, believe.

The blessed believe,
In the one who will come again,
The blessed believe
The blessed believe.

And no death can touch them.
Not a clog in an artery
No fear will hunt them
Like the shadows, stalking me.

So i draw in, an inward gasp,
I clasp
My hands, and somehow,
I see.