nights of metaphorical chaos
days of literal sandstorms

dust drifts upon dust
every dawn lays a fresh layer over yesterday’s
every sunset freezes me in place

harder to move
harder to think
harder to touch things
to believe
harder to simply open the door
and take a walk

quicksand

my mind ricochets through dark corners
inventing catastrophes I can’t control

every flicker of quiet
becomes a prophecy of collapse

then, without warning
I was thrown a lifeline
several, in fact

blessing and curse

in the last two weeks
it could have all ended
the suffering
the joy
the enthusiasm
the hope
the misery
the despair
the ecstacy

in one final breath
it would all cease to exist

instead the lid snaps back on pandora’s box
and I’m conscripted against my will
into another chapter
of this cruel experiment

those lines tether me
they forfeit my right to leave

I have a life raft
I have a plank of wood to hold on to
to avoid drowning

I have shelter from the sandstorm
and now I cannot allow myself to leave
if I’m being offered
the mere chance of salvation

deprived of an honorable exit

so I stay

I will follow each thread
to its frayed end
a chance of finding something
that lets me
want to stay

only when the desert is silent
when every option lies exhausted
will I permit myself to leave
with pride
head held high
pockets stuffed with little bundles of
unraveled thread

and if one day
they find what remains of me
with no crumpled note beside my frail bones
no explanation
no one will dare ask

why did he do it?