Knots in wood

I’ve been testing my safety 

For a very long time now. 

Sitting in the darkness of an empty village,

Or riverside, 

Or beach. 

Feeling so close to death, 

The silent whispering of my intuition

Linger in place. 

My heartbeat and breath becoming louder.

A wooden pole, the only visible thing in this darkness. 

The knots in the wood. 

It had been sanded down so much, so carefully to make it perfect

I could still see the knots

I wonder if it was like me. 

Whether my scars, 

My history, 

My story had been sanded down so much over time, 

that people couldn’t see the imperfections the scars the way they were before. 

Had I been sanded right down to the shell of someone I once was?
Perhaps every corner of my mind had become silent to the outside world.

I have stared down the barrel 

of death.

Waited, and watched.  

But the only remnants are like 

knots in wood.

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