I need out of my own head. It's like I've been running laps for years
and my metaphoric legs are mechanical, my flesh was stripped away and
replaced with wires.
I'm unable to stop running even when I need a rest.
I run from everything that means anything to me, because I fear that if I stop I will rust and wither away.
My pride will be hurt, so instead I puncture it myself.
Tiny pinholes to seep out through, dirty water has filled my lungs, and I made you sick this way.
I've waded out, coaxed you close, to drown you out.
She's crawling through soft veiled insides to reach you.
"How many times have I met you here?", she whispers.
Too many times, I fear.
I'm learning how to walk again, slow down, slow drive, learning all those moves.
Fingertips tracing shapes in sand,
look up, target. cheap shot.
Arrows through your heart, shooting with a blind eye.
Her half grin and gleam in her eyes.
She lies that she won't be going there again, as she puts on her best dress.
Walking out the door, haven't seen her in months.
Missing reports, filed.
