You taste like salt
It deforms
Along the lines of your limbs
The inertia of an infinite movement
Creeps down your breath
The run
Swing
Lolls your head
And pounds the ground wet
Withered
Stop
Stop
Immediate
You—me? You—me?
Existence clings to your leg
Like a dead child
Wrapped into your flesh
And nothing makes sense
Nothing makes
Nothing makes sense