you don’t pick your death

she staggered
down the broken pavement
leaving bloody footprints
to mark the trail
leading back
towards the scene
of her undoing

a wild gleam
in her eyes
spoke of things
best left

she needed
a stiff drink
a three hour shower
a nice soft mattress
to pass out upon
it was all
said and done

the roars of frustration
of primal rage
and a hint of retribution
from behind
growing closer

she winced
as her shoulder remained
out of socket
a strand of hair
from her blood matted

this was not
one of those moments
you run from

she spat blood
to the broken stones
cracked her neck
to what would have to
happen next
turned back
towards the pounding steps
towards her
with a sigh.

you don’t pick
your death
and you most certainly don’t
try to escape it

her father
had told her that

she hated to admit
he was right

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