Press against resistance
deliver from moments left on the floor
scattered across the hall
I run.
Seething at darkness creeping
into photograph ghosts left hanging
littering walls with pain
I run.
run…
Where can I go
Where the images cannot touch memory
and memory not ravage tender heart bleeding?
and so I run
down halls with walls hung with tears.
The need to escape,
is a fire building at the
base of skull and reaching
to the movement of my feet
it is a reason
creating its own season
of relentless storms
in the wake
quake
and lunging backwards
I have been sensing
lately…
and I just
want
to run…
Because surely
I can leave the me
behind always
siding with the need
in me to remain
inside
and cope
to be the woman
I know I should be
instead:
Skydiving maddly
through the world
of my own visions
to places I have yet
to visit
and absorbing the thrill
of life
in the quickening breath
of the outside
air.
saying it anyway 