There was apart of me that was constantly running. From my life, from those in it- from myself. Almost as though deep within me resided a desire to escape. To flee to something that wasn't known, that I could begin not knowing the ending. To fall graciously through space and time, eternally wandering, experiencing, feeling.
It's always there, buried beneath the surface of my skin, tingling against the nerves, humming against my veins twisting around my bones- numbing the pain.
To carve out adventure with my own hands, define it however I may, by what made sense, or having no sense at all; and that was the point. I tried with what I had, changed the color of my hair, tried to cut out the past- but hair grows, and the present becomes past with it.
In that I found there was no way to run from the life I had unless I ran completely, not carrying a token of remembrance, or a picture to never forget- but to shred the skin straight from my body, pull the hair from the roots, grab no bags and bring no clothes, remove the scent of this collapsing home-
find a woman who meant the world and make her just that, scream every ounce of pain I have ever felt from the top of my lungs and cry a thousand words, create rivers and discard them- don't swim through them, fly around them.
YOU ARE READING
Existent
PoetryHighest rank: #23 In poetry. A compilation of Poems about love, heart break, depression and everything in between really. Black, white, and of course, a dose of grey.
