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I have already been too many people, worn too many faces, screamed too many names.

I've been in and out of many shadows...



Chapped lips and spider bites,

Scars and fractures that didn't heal right.



My disease is my prescription, my doctor doesn't exist and I spin fairy tales out of the symptoms.

Weaving a world out of other people's words...



The cosmos have yet to invent the right colors for me to tell my story with...

Everyone around me is running, in the pursuit of standing still. Our hunter is a monster who just wants us in his belly again. We try to resist the smooth warm softness of being swallowed, sprinting to remember the burn of the acid down below. Sometimes they forget about the monster, deception's vines whisper to them that they're simply following me. I forget to mention I was only spit out here as bait.

COMMENTS

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NeverMind
22:24 Jun 01 2013

Write a book.

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