Sense Sonnet - Chiller

On My Own

I'm thinking the machine is off,
Before I stick my hand in there,
To pull the stuck corn from the trough.
I'm in for one hell of a scare.
The metal teeth grab at my shirt,
And I can't get my arm pulled free.
I feel an awful lot of hurt.
The gears are slowly eating me.
I get my knife with my free hand,
Then grit my teeth and start to cut.
It's almost more than I can stand.
I slice through and squeeze the stump shut.

Better be on my way, no doubt.
To get help before I pass out.