If I ever stopped running...
A blood blackened sun would make this scorched skin cry
Filthy locks would fly astray, freer than I
Fractured structures that stand this flesh would wail and weep
The humid breath of Earth would clasp every crease
Stripped, stained nails would invite blood at the palm
Parched, waterless lips would breathe a profound and silent song
That grew from the confinement of this boney cage
And overcome my eyes with a frightfully, bleary haze
It prevails in this ever growing prison
To fail at eliciting the depth and degree of my misery
And I would loose breathe. . .
