the execution by a firing squad

I am standing here
not behind any bars because I am not captivated though I am restricted,
not behind anyone because I am independent though I am not alone,
not behind any lines because this world you and I are in knows no borders.

I am standing here
just behind my own invisible flag of white surrender.
Though blindfolded, my eyes are wide open.

For whatever reason, I am not fighting.
For whatever reason, I am just holding on
to where my belief has brought me to
and to what my decisions have brought upon me.

I am standing here.
I take the dirt, the earth where I stood upon.
I shove it in my mouth,
and I know what I taste is neither my defeat, nor my victory,
but it is the taste of my own fight.

I am standing here,
as the soldiers in front of me aim their bullets to my heart, my head, my soul.
I raise both of my hands
and I feel the air moving between my fingers.
I know what I feel is: time: that moves gracefully steady,
time that would not stop,
even if my heartbeat ends.

I am standing here,
taking the bullets in because I know there is no use of dodging them.
The sound of the bullets released from their rifles
are like the hum of the one I adore;
humming our tune as I make my way back to him.

So I fall to the earth that I tasted, to the air I felt.

The soldiers are standing there still,
what they see is neither their victory, nor their defeat,
they feel exactly the way I felt
they see nothing more than their own fight.

I am lying here,
and before the last ray of light exits my tunnel of life,
the realization dawned on me;
that I am my enemy.