The Subtle Art of Running. Away.

I first found my feet when I was little

With little desires and little patience and little power

And I ran I ran out of shame and guilt at being a burden

While still being right there, pesky little me

But I was overjoyed to find this joyride of anger, pain, disappointment, expectation and I hopped on

I’ve had my sneakers on ever since.

Such depth in this well of death of mine the more I run I run deeper inside of me

Much treasure in the dark I see

I can see people out at the edge, smiling lovingly

I suspect they can see some of me too

It’s hard to tell I can tell

If I’m circling up or down