Skydancer

Walking on sharp spikes scattered all around,
along my path, designed by intent for my fall,
digging into my feet with every step I take,
blood seeping, smearing those piercing tips.

When I search for a flat surface, I find none,
not even in sleep, they’ll track me down
draining every last drop of my stability
until I am nothing but a deflating skydancer.

Yet, still, I breathe as if air doesn’t rush right
through those holes, through every wound.