Winter Snap

I choose.
After each first unlatched lash
and each involuntary first wake gasp
I choose to leave comfort.

My soul resists the urge that has been
Programmed.
By the world.

But still it is I who complies.
And so,

I choose.
I know that once the blankets are thrown
My body will drown
In the deep temperatures of the season.

The dry skin of my feet kissing without passion
The floor.
It is cold.

And I "must" continue.
And so,

I choose.
My bare ass is lifted
And I see the banks of snow have drifted
Outside is my destination.

Like many of my days
I forget.
Then sleep.

And the insanity of my choice persists.