Twist the Wrist

I could turn back the hand,

twist it from open palm.

Hand pointed to sky,

and turn it over as if I was no longer to give in.

To close the door of opportunity where I thought I could question the validity of it.

Where I was young and naïve, trusting and wary,

I had placed faith in the long ones who's quarries were empty.

Should I have smacked away the hand that led me to ruin,

I would have freed myself much quicker than watched her burn to ruin.

Took away the life I live now,

A future that would never come to be.

A future I love, comfortable though I am here now.

But I would spared myself feelings of confusion,

doubt and the regret I feel now.

For letting her take me on the ride,

the ride on the long and dark road where everyone was the villain and she was the closest semblance I had to a lifeline.

She was a rope sheared short,

frayed from the start.

She was going to drop me in the well whether I liked it or not.

And so, had I turned my hand down to her longer ago now.

Had I brushed her off and she split off to chase the tail she has in hand now,

we might have both been happier.

Staved off the unwanted tempers,

the feelings of hatred long since past that I've grown out.

I am not her,

she is not I.

But we are not one in the same and the path I chose remained there,

while she fell off into some dark wood.

It is my mistake to stick my hand into the briar, to attempt to drag her out.

She wanted to lay there,

and she'd bade me to do the same.

I am glad I left.

Glad I was more sane.

I almost rolled with her.

And my regrets would have been worse rather than the same.