She was found off the beaten path
featured in the scenic route
her body bent like a swastika
an obscene twist in a picturesque scene
she only had the clothes on her back
and the syringe plunged into her arm
and a note in her pocket to explain nothing
all that she wrote:
Written for OctPoWriMo 2020. 31 poems, 31 days.
There is no greater choice one faces than the one Albert Camus said he did every morning.
This was much more condensed, more of a micropoem like the others, but the words just kept coming, moving towards where I wanted it to go (as I had the ending before the beginning this time) and as a result, I figured, why not. Let it be longer.
It kinda feels like the choice I made to go on. With OctPo and… well, other things.