Feeling fingers

creep along my spine.

Cold inside,

but I’ve

decided on it.

Hopeless,

as a choice to be an effigy.

A light to burn.

An unsubtle warning.

Maybe all

of this has been

imagined and then sold.

The hand that was

reaching out

wraps around my throat.

What are the options?

Do we give way

to every harm

and pleasure?

Or do we burn

and guide

Back to the path

where we belong?

It’s possible

that the light behind us

Is somewhere we’ve never been.

Turned around.

Sailing

in circles,

once again.

 

 

HG – 2020