Running

I run.

I run through the whipping wind and the delicate flowers that
are trampled under my heavy steps.
I run away from unguilty pleasures of the world and the
lustful wants that every hand claims.

I run.

I run and feel cold wet
Cold wet streaming down my face and I can't
remember if its blood or if its tears or if its
apple juice from the night before.
I run, my bare feet sinking in the mud that drags my
soul closer to the ground and further from the endless sky.

I run.

I run from you and I run from him. I run from me.
I run until the word run looks unreal and until
the blurs of trees and clouds and rain become a whirlpool
of unrecognizable confusion clouding my vision.

I run.

I run from love,
I run from people,
I run from hate,
I run from problems.

I run.