I give up, this is a writing blog

Nobody really wants to hear about my day. Hell, I don't want to hear about my day. It sucked.
I don't think people necessarily want to read my writing either, but whatever.
This one is a work in progress, and I think it will perpetually be a work in progress. Does that mean it's just a bad poem? Maybe.
I thought I watched the pattern
of the swiftly falling guillotine
rising, falling, darting like death
flashing brightly, blade unseen.

Opposite the guillotine
A golden apple beckons
Inaccessable behind the winking blade
A softly sweeping beacon.

I thought I watched the pattern
Neck outstretched beneath the guillotine
But as I strained for the golden apple
The blade plummeted, vicious and keen.

I thought I watched the pattern
of the guillotine swiftly falling.

But I was wrong;
cruelty has no pattern.

Yeah I hate the second stanza. I hate the whole thing really. Whatever.