Life passes underneath the
grit beneath my feet,
easier than it should.
Rain drips down my brow
as the fog lifts away from
sprinting thoughts.
As if the beads of sweat are
life's burdens, my mind
clears as the taste of
blood returns and a
deep mist bellows from my lungs.
The place I go to,
without hiding,
where nobody can find me.
Thoughtless yet mindful.
Deep solitude amongst
passing cars, spray painted postboxes
and abandoned trolleys.
Where the leaves crunch,
twigs crack and the tarmac
is a black lake set against
rows of false trees.
Never running away, as
no such place exists.
There's nowhere to run to
and nothing to run from
except myself.
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