I Painted Myself Into A Corner

A chokehold is now the winnowing of escape routes

Anxiety is even running out of breath

No matching suggestions for relief offered 

To the inevitable fruitless of pursuit’s attainment

Old age is not for ninnies 

And dying is not painlessly obtained 

“Some day soon, you will meet me

As you arrive at this crossroads” she said with sorrowful resign

 Pandora’s box inheritance for future

A gift I did not expect, none other but

The effort and the desired end

A mere random match