all I have been doing is running.
there is silence in the wind gushing
strongly against my ear. deafening.
my feet are bleeding,
I am bursting
out of this woodland, escaping –
wolf eyes accusing,
demanding
stories of the breaking
and the devastating.
recalling
nights of constantly waiting
for something –
someone – clearly missing
someone else’s breathing.
there is stillness in the moving –
the flashes of colour coming
and going.
I’m stopping
myself from spilling
blood on this clearing.
this isn’t where I have been wanting
to be; four walls and pale painting –
four days a week I am blurting
out words without knowing.
I am not comprehending.
completely spacing
out; In my head I am not locking
eyes with strangers, wondering
whom yours are currently seeing.
In my head I am running
fifteen kilometers, stopping
you from leaving
and changing
your mind. This feels like dying.
How do I battle the unrelenting?
the decisions made in carving?
the unchanging?
there is warmth in the cold biting
wind; in my skin, crawling –
sensations lingering –
(I shouldn’t be thinking
of your hands touching
me) – I keep running.
completely out of breath; lying,
saying,
“this is where I have been wanting
to be.” in the silence, whispering.
in the stillness, wavering.
in the warmth, shivering.
I guess this all it takes to keep moving,
as I keep trying
to look at reality in the eye, saying,
“you are my every undoing.”
all I have been doing is running.
just waiting for the crash landing
the waking
up from the dreaming.
the realizing.
the forgetting.
the accepting.
by sheslightweight
CCS IoN+ 