Running That Way

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  • Running That Way

    • Rusted shut sweat dream eyes.

      Grown down, long vines strapping the path ahead.

      I revolt at the isolation of standing here.

      Where does my vision drift? I look for hindsight memories of the future.

      Standing here, I am down. Laid beside myself, observer and actor.

      Twist the knobs, pull the levers. Dart, dash, dodge.

      Shades of wisdom to avoid, heal this broken path – split by the untrodden.

      If ever a thousand forevers I’ve lived, choice is a memory, and I need choice to live beyond my time.

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