Failed Escape Artist
Boughs wrap cold arms around me,
Abrasive against my bare skin.
I secrete blood from the adorned thorns,
Which I wear like the crown of Christ.
Howl
I spot the vertebra of an estranged beast,
The caliber of a ripened brute ready to pounce.
Sedimentary I stand, shallow breathing
The sniper eyes spot me, amber glazed.
Howl
Confined by the air, I’m vulnerable.
I run like ink down a piece of parchment.
Where is the freedom I crave?
Everything is priced as I bleed
Wanted to write about the adrenaline rush of being in a chase against a beast where there will never be a victory. What do you do when you are set up for failure? Questioning of fate and when to accept it.
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