Take off down the drunken streets
with dim streetlights holding onto the last breaths
of winter itself.
Your feet are light, as the night is
young,
it seems like you're slicing through thin mists at half past five on a Saturday morning,
or barefoot with the grass beneath right after a midnight drizzle.
You're running towards dawn, you think,
but it's just as though it is a bright light at the end of a tunnel,
and after all this time-
does the dark feel
more like home?
Or have you simply been in the dark for so long that the light seems like an abandoned, cold house
brought to the present(though it certainly isn't the best gift you've recieved) from your childhood?
Force yourself to stumble on your hesitation,
blame it on the stones scattered on the road.
Look up, everything's
fading,
just
like
you.
You pick yourself up,
but now it seems like you're in a nightmare(are you not?) with the Bogey Man right behind,
your feet chained to rocks twice the size
of your own two feet.
And you're sinking, ever so slowly.
But how can you not be aware of it? There is nothing else to notice at all.
You know you will never escape,
you're one of them now.
Keep running, keep running,
do not die in vain.