Destitution

I go through circles, and circles,
and infinite cycles
only to come across a void
demanding seven pounds to pass.
I heave and pull,
plucking destitution from my eyes
as it pours through my veins
leaving my mouth dry and gasping for air.
It slowly runs it's fingers up my spine
to become a tightness in my throat.
It's sweet breath dances on my neck
as it malevolently whispers in my ear,
"everything comes full circle."

This is a poetry piece, and an Avant Garde original. Please do not copy or restate.