Run.

There’s a trap door down the stone path that leads to another rock bottom, or two. My millionth run isn’t meant for you.

There’s a lady on the couch in this drunken dream of mine, sipping on the koolaide just to be confined. We wonder where we’ve gone to on this road to the inhumane, where we sit and take stock of other people’s pain. We compare ourselves on the edge of dusty, rusty knives where their opinions about our whereabouts would seemingly effect our lives.

There’s a wolf on the couch slumbering away his peace, only to be told to remove his matted fleece. We know you’re in there counting down the hours but I can’t say I’m frightened of your witcherly ways and prehistoric power.

You see, I’ve already given in with my reservations made in vain. Long ago, say three years to the day, I’ve made a pact to stay – On the wild side, they say, swinging here nor there. On the edge of reason when the razor has been sharpened thin, to cut my restraints toward freedom and away from him.

The party at my doorstep will lead a wayward home. To a place I’ve forgotten, where the beggers roam just to roam. Honest blinks of an eye, and I’m transported there, a fulfilling walk through grace where truth can lie.

There’s a narrow alley amongst the cobblestone. With cautious steps, the trap doors sing as the gentleman walks me home. Society will tell you one way is theirs alone – the best; their way or the highway as they siphon the strength from the rest.

Failing is following mistakes to their graves, burying them deep within a try and leaving us half-saved. To try is to fail and to fail is to try until you make if one more time.

There’s a trap door down the stone path that leads to another rock bottom, or two. My millionth run isn’t meant for you.

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Charred Atlas
Charred Atlas – Charcoal

One Comment Add yours

  1. more rock bottoms? is there a dungeon down there?

    Liked by 1 person

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