52-card pick-up

These are thin threads on which I dangle.
The Sword of Damocles in reverse, hovering above a sharp point and me wondering when one small string will be cut, sending me down to be impaled, my imminent demise. Breathing laboriously and without surprise, gasping, blood running over my tongue with the blade thrust through me, attesting to the folly of hanging by such flimsy circumstance. Spitting out that last laugh as crimson spots sprayed on the wall, watching my life sputter out of me.
Swaying in the breeze, my eyes just inches from the tip of a knife, throwing spade and diamond shaped spackles of light throughout the room, I blink as the club comes down to knock me in a spiral towards the point, my heart empty as I consider where I might land.
Blinking means, to those of you waiting for a wink, "Here's my spleen, shining like a sack of silver on the tip of your sword."
A wink is as good as a smile to a dead man.
And a wink is, for those who wait, the reason to step in and stretch the perforated entrails, read the detritus for some sign from above (or below).
The wind in the room sounds like the push a fingetip pushing ice across a window; a soft crack and then nothing until the aggregate collects against the edge of the pane.
My heart stops, awaiting the smack of the club. The wind twists me round and round, sounding nothing less than like a spade chopping up cold earth while the frost on the window, a flat diamond, splays a muted spectrum of colors throughout the room chaotically.
When I was a child, the nuns had buckets of pins that read "I AM LOVED," little nickel-sized affirmations of lead and tin that, I'm sure, poisoned everyone that touched them.
I tried not to get infected by those pins, I avoided their toxic substance, moving like a cockroach in between the free spaces to find my place in darkness until the next morsel seemed free and safe.
Yet, here I am, on my back, my appendages wriggling helplessly, spinning on the last bit of silk that sustains me. Pinned and chloroformed, the rest of me framed and hung on display.