and there you stand in your childhood room where posters peel like old dreams falling and mama's voice still echoes up the stairs boy come down to dinner but you can't come down anymore because the walls are closing in with memories that scratch like vinyl records spinning backwards and the air is thick with what-could-have-beens and supposed-to-bes and every mirror shows a face you're supposed to wear but can't recognize anymore and the pressure builds and builds and builds like feedback through blown speakers until your bones start humming with the need to RUN

TO BREAK
TO SCREAM
TO FLY

because these streets these familiar streets these suffocating streets that taught you how to walk are now teaching you how to SPRINT and every mile marker becomes a battle cry becomes a thunder roll becomes an earthquake beneath your feet because you can't become a butterfly inside the cocoon that tried to make you into something else something smaller something safer something DEAD and now

THE HORIZON CALLS
THE ROAD SCREAMS
THE FUTURE BURNS

until there's nothing left but ashes of who you used to be and from those ashes from those beautiful terrible necessary ashes you finally finally FINALLY begin to rise