A Circle of Foxes, a Staggering Rabbit

I’ll die however you see fit.

The tools are yours to choose.

By the libel of a tongue turned guillotine blade,

I’ll die however you see fit.


On a sidewalk cracked by karma’s gaze,

ensnaring tired feet onto unforgiving ground,

my steps are given a weight

like wading through the hardened concrete of mistakes.


Snapped in the jaws of a misplaced ladder,

fate will find me in the narrative you spin,

dribbling poison over a golden cup for the loyal to choke on,

hypnotized by headlines without perceiving what lies in its shadow.


My collapse is an exaggerated storybook told cross-continental.

My obituary is a Vegas bet,

the house aiming rifles to deter the unfavorable favorable outcome.

Enemies are getting paid tonight,

and I’ll die however it is deemed necessary for profit.


Transfigured into a standing, talking corpse,

I see stares that declare the dead walk the earth,

demise foretold in backroom gossip,

tucked behind makeup smiles and snake-spoken assurances,

two meanings out of one mouth uttering one sentence.


With a voice robbed of me,

I scream noiselessly against roaring crowds.

With the control evading me,

I grasp at receding figures that pivot towards the mob.

In a flurry of fiction,

I will accept death however it may come.

The choice was never mine to make.

( ❤ Mitch)

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