162 – Now

Deep inside
A golden rib cage
I hear the rhythmic echoes
From a single drop
Of blood.

Ticking away
Like some ancient mechanism,
Counting down the breaths
Before the tight string
Finally snaps.

There is no refuge
From this fleshy bag
Of bones and self-importance,
Even though the mirror
Clearly marks the exit.

Patience is a virtue
Often preached by those
Who never really need it.
The rest of us are forced
To simply endure it.

The gears keep turning,
Like an automatic prayer wheel,
Repeating the same mantra
Within the confines
Of my thick skull.

I have no patience for my demons
Or the world that feeds them,
So I run towards the cliff
Right to the edge of my own pain,
And just keep running.

Who? What? When? Why?
Questions that don’t really
Want an answer,
For it will always be
The wrong one.

I do not fight my demons.
I run until they burn away.
I know they will be back tomorrow
When I shall greet them smiling,
And we will run again.

• • •

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