sooner or later, the irony hits you like a nail through the palm
all these years of swallowing pills have led you to this point.
take one path, another.
are they not reflections of the same face
in the mirror of fate?
martydom is your best colour
and you wear it so well.
with time, you learn the meaning of obedience
painfully, remorsefully,
trying to pinpoint the day
this wicked ball of yarn may have started
to unravel.
like a widow folding her hands
you begin to acquire the grace of resignation
as if death is already behind you,
as if you have faced its glorious gates,
and returned to tell the tale.
