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
into the abyss
where darkness, my friend,
erupts in rainbow colours,
images framed in childhood
the realization that death equals life.

The executioner’s hood is tight over my eyes.

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