Brittle have turned the
The undone knots of the past
Knotting every minute
Tightening around the neck
Like the coils of the cobra
Cutting the breath by half
With every moment that pass
Fingers turn cold
wrapping the moisture Beneath the skin
It crawls like the spider on the run
The clenched jaw wont give
Neither will the fists that grip
The one to win is already decided
But the name written on tomorrow
Is yet to be revealed
And so the struggle goes on
Till the end
Till the very end
Till that which is broken is made
Till that which is brittle is adamantine
Vpoetry 