I never bothered to salt the steps.
In the days and the months that
Dragged and dragged infinitely on toward death
I got used to, comforted by, the thrill of close-calls —
The inexhaustible pleasure of confronting my frail existence
As I felt the ground slip away.

And in the brighter days
I was warmed by my own resiliency
Kindled by my own stupidity
Blissfully, recklessly brave,
As I had made it through the cold.

If I had opened my eyes, I could have
Predicted the destructive path that I
So easily made my way across.
No, I had every opportunity under the sun
To correct the course I charted, onwards —
Onwards toward my own unraveling.

And still
I took
That step.