Fleeing, fleeing, fleeing;
Always running away.
Her dress skirts reaching out behind her,
And she runs again.
Her mind is composed,
But her heart is afraid.
"Stop running, my love."
Was all that he said.
Commitment was there,
But he wasn't.
Washed up dreams,
With a broken heart.
Passing staircases, up and down them,
Surely she'd trip,
But she found her way,
And her breath became ragged.
Her castle of glass was failing,
The floors crumbling beneath her feet,
"Nowhere left to run now,"
She whispered to herself.
See, she always thought she was stronger then herself
But it turns out it might not be.
Because it is not a thing she's running from,
But her own demon dreams.
Inspired by a picture I found online of a girl in a long black dress that pooled around her as she ran up a staircase.
YOU ARE READING
Poems
Poetry*CONTINUOUS* Although I have no stories published on here yet, I write poetry too. I'm a better writer, I think, but sometimes I get ideas and poetry is an easier, more short-term solution to get those ideas out so I started poetry. I will add more...
