I run and run, searching
for what I don’t know.
I run and run, knocking doors,
to find who I don’t know.
I ask questions,
answer them myself,
and run more and more-
to find myself, or to hide,
I don’t know.
The rooms I find are
No home.
The rooms I find are
No hideouts.
The rooms I find reek
My absence and
The rooms I find myself in
push me to run more
And more.
It’s the sweat and
The drool and panting
my guts out, mother.
It’s my existential angst
holding my face,
Taunting me by sticking
its tongue out.
It’s black tar dripping
from the roads that are
Closed.
Sandstorms of dreams
That have turned into
Blurbs.
My shoes are torn
from yesterday's chase.
But feet still move like
Body remembers what
The mind tries to forget.
And I run and run again
Without meaning to
Like stillness is louder
Than my breath.
Oh, I am tired, mother.
And I think I am done.
Save me from myself.
Unbirth my existence.
Take me back into your
Womb and pat me down
to a long rest.
I've been tired mother,
And hopeless-
Tuck me to sleep to
Wake me up again.