Creative Writing

Return to Form [Freeform Poem]

Spend this year without sleep.

 

Give yourself up to the current and

“surrender”,

otherwise

fight and drown,

fight and drown,

fight and drown down.

 

It’s only a year,

except each day pretends it’s a decade.

Snippings of seconds curl inwards,

these smaller moments unforgotten.

Provided, of course, that

you care to remember.

 

The days will peel away.

Eventually.

 

Eventually,

the unwrapped core will glow,

a white-hot finality

burning in your hands.

 

Now.

Undo the loop of routine.

Follow the unwound curve

and feel towards the end.

 

It takes a year,

but how long is that?

Three hundred and sixty five days,

or,

three hundred and sixty five decades?

 

Soon I shall find out.

 

I’m pinching my nose.

I’m squinting my eyes.

I’m snatching a breath.

 

In-

 

-hale…

 

I drop off the rocks and slip into the rapids.

Wish me luck.

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