Capitulation

there comes a point in time
where the only thing
is the only thing.

unwelcome and unbidden,
memories of blue afternoons
jockey with each other
for the prize of Most Painful.

arms like toothpicks
can only hold back the avalanche for so long--
the splintering point advances.

to give in is to go under
and to resist is to explode,
which is worse:

letting go and waiting for engulfment
sweet abeyance and false hope
so cloying that breathing stops
and the heart is stilled,

or combating with shaking limbs,
counting down to the collapse
that's coming as sure as dark comes after light.

the question is:
can surrender be sweetened
by the sugar of choice?