It's like playing a movie
in my head. Our story
is a tragedy that keeps
repeating chapters.
It never seems to unravel
from the noose we've woven,
strand by strand, about our necks.

And so what if I still cry?
Is it so easy to pull back
and replace the shroud
with a halo or crown?

I'll wake to the sound
of salt trails beyond control.
Finding the dry places,
of submersion, in submission.
Not by choice, but by necessity,
I can't accept the end result.

03/05/2004

Posted on 03/05/2004
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