The Execution

The Execution

I’ve been running for weeks.

Grey dusk’s bridal veil
comes earlier each day;
Winter breathes
white fire
into the palms
of these bloodied hands.

The muddy river bank’s
the toughest challenge so far;
I trudge through
sludge that swallows,
night creatures’ filthy mouths
release green gasses
that haunt me
to where the river mouth
promises to cleanse
all sense of trepidation;
all sense being punished.

My body cramps up,
ice water steals my soul,
a cold tentacle around my leg.
‘The river mouth lied’
words like rotten corpses
over river rocks
over my blue lips;
arms entangled in desperation
with each frantic kick
that only drags me
deeper
into the abyss
where darkness, my friend,
erupts in rainbow colours,
images framed in childhood
clarity:
the realization that death equals life.

The executioner’s hood is tight over my eyes.

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