Distractions

Studded handle gripped.
Tightly in its midst.
Cresent blade gleams.
Rounded but size of cleaver.

Staring in my eyes.
It's anger to my fear.
As here i let my ink escape.
My ink escaping here.

It's small axe sways.
Dances, clutched, in loops.
A pattern i cannot pinpoint.

A mess of tentacles,
To break the weapon from my view.
Trying to predict moves.
My vision, loose.

Peripherals in action.
Feet grounded.
Watching the axes line.
Octopus grabs my throat from behind.

My hands gasp at it's suction.
My life left to reduction.
I know not what it wants.
Blade to my gut.
Drowning in blood.