It was morning, people around me minded their own business--but not me. I focused on hiding, though I cannot.
I ran as I saw the shadow, passed by every stranger I hit--slowing me down. But I still saw his dark pigment, the ones that gives me the chill.
I ran towards an old building, quiet and peaceful--but not for long. He was there catching up with me through the stairs. I was at the last edge of the building. "I must jump" I thought and I flew. But he was fast, caught up with me and teared my wings down.
I fell slowly, but woke up quickly.
***
A/n:
I entered this in an event, and it's still metaphoric.
YOU ARE READING
Voices
PoetryNowadays, people normally keep their secrets and voices. Yet there as some, who writes. Everything that comes in their minds stays here. -ARG
