Tarnished by energy getting mauled by time,
I conceptualize the sound of my breath.
Invincible, as it seems to the naked eye,
it subsides to the agony of what I hear.
Speeds quivering.
Silence.
Speeds quivering.
Silence.
Injustice, is all when breath struggles
to find its innocuous provider.
Who are you running from?
My breath cuts short.
What is it that you fear?
We are all afraid, we are all afraid.
I find, justice is solidarity.
The punishment of trial and error.
The illusion,
being, which one are you?
Hide alone, feel disconnected.
Hide from yourself, be disconnected.
Return to the breath, as it begs,
for your admiration.
Your attention.
You tell yourself time after time,
run.
The people will just laugh,
but,
run.
They want to see ya dance, boy.
They want to see ya play, boy.
Your breath lies dormant.
You hope that it will remain that way
until eyes close and you can finally,
grasp,
an escape.
But, you always run.
Hide from them.
Hide from them.
What will they think when they
find you, though?
They will find you odd.
Odd.
You run.
They find you weak.
Weak.
You beg for mercy.
And they give it to you.
But, we must never forget,
who was the one who asked for it?
My breathing echos in me.
I want to rip my skin off
and find
Its source.
All I find is endless.
So,
I run.
I am stuck in between the ceiling,
and the ground.
