Staggering on an atrophied reason
through a miasma of resignation,
I find and light the torch of conviction.
And run.
Emptiness revels behind every door,
gorging herself on the countless corpses
of every instance of my cowardice.
‘Neath each door, a dim glow promises more
when my conviction’s guiding light falters.
I hear her laugh, an echoing whisper,
“How many times have you been here before?”
Exhausted I sought rest in compromise.
I knew it could only metastasize,
but I dissociated my demise.
And now
I fear this is no longer a labyrinth,
for casuistry had become cyclic.
Ignorance is no longer complicit
in the fraudulence of expedience.
Yet this tragic familiarity
was the thread leading back to honesty:
the travailing threshold to congruence.
She whispers sweetly now, drawing nearer
as my only escape becomes clearer:
I rush to the door that frames a mirror
and push.
Poetry by Adam Nevarez 