halted execution

I’m not sure why I didn’t release
the guillotine’s chord, why I didn’t
keep my neck on the chopping board
like a fish gasping for the water to
fill my lungs. the guilt in my gut
turned my blood to dirt, coughing
up the heavy pebbles; each a word
that sunk me to the bottom
of that murky lake. somehow from
the slime and blood dripped mud,
a lotus grew from the darkness to
blossom on the surface. the sun
burns my pink skin, and yet…
the lotuses keep growing.

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