As I run from my shadow

she overtakes me.

Her long hair flows like 

ring winged fingers of shame

around my throat,

trickles 

like small grey snake spectres

 down my neck,

pauses over 

my mother’s whispers 

of what my life should have been

if only I hadn’t been

-me-

she hangs me

somewhere

between

gritting teeth and grey drizzled fog 

In Then and now 

and never 

and

would 

and could 

and should be mists

quivering like little ghosts of neglect 

my ashes

drift 

over 

ancient

rubbles