23 Minutes, 35 Seconds

Fuuuuuuck!

I yell
as I launch myself through the
warehouse doors.

I'm trying to outrun the pain
but it's
catching me,
nipping at my heels
inhabiting my thighs

Curling up in the cavities of my chest
consuming my
every though.

I'm trying to shake it off me
out my fingertips
off the strands of my
sweat soaked hair

But it's living inside me
I'm breathing it,

I'm breathing it.

Face burning
sweat dripping

I can't hear the cars
on the street
My ears are full
of sweat,
adrenaline
something

Around the corner,
I attack the last few meters
as if they are the pain
I am desperate to conquer,
ferociously.

Then,
there is
nothing.

Everything,
silent.

That night I dream of running,
but I'm someone else,
someone whose strides have
defeated pain,
with the wind in her hair,
she is effortless.

Perhaps
she'll catch me,
one day.

Blistered Paws

The skin is rubbed there,
raw and red,

a rash decision
vain,
ill advised

has led to this.

Pain can be ignored
only for so long
until we carry
physical reminders

wounds
that heal
but never go away.

I walked home,
barefoot

fearing less the broken glass and bitumen

than the scars I might be left with.