Drifting’s a different grift

Siftings of tears, a gift

If the first draft is read

A rift is the third thread

Ten stars and heavy rains

Red darts for stronger stains

See and fear death head to toe

After this, it’s safe to go

If, at first, there’s little warmth

Then the heat smothers the spring

When the knife goes back and forth

Is it my voice echoing?

When I’m close enough to gawk

Is it me who lies there dead?

If the rope’s about to break

Am I hanging by a thread?

When the bullet hits the target

Is it my blood in the speck?

Did I leave something behind?

Can I be found in a fleck?

At the bottom of the lake

Can I make the water clearer?

When decomposition starts

Am I looking in the mirror?