You . A little runner, a traveler. Covered in dirt and grime, fingernails covered in grit. Work clothes full of ash, head full of dreams (with your feet in the dirt, knowing knowing knowing ).
You . This little runner, traveling from dream to dream, finding a new place to sleep each night. Feet in the dirt, head in the darkening sky ( hoping hoping hoping ).
You . A watered-down memory. Sunk through quick-sand, up to your neck in stress.
You . A thing of remarkableness, hefted at the wall ‘til your head is full of lead and false memories.
You . Little runner, head full of lead, weighed down by crushed dreams. Feet walk over your neck, stepping on your jugular.
Crumpled little tissue stuck in a beehive, who do you think is stepping on you?