Left foot up. This thing is harder to raise in me than to put down, to quell with an unrefined manner of violent battering.
Right foot down. It is easier to cast this thing to the ground than to continue carrying this unbearable weight.
Right hand up. It comes to my forehead under my command, this effort is strenuous. The sweat has no end, no relief exists. Dehydration at this point might be a good thing. Maybe then I could save my shirt from the possible threat of arm-pit stains. Maybe I can preserve it’s perfect whiteness.
Left hand down. My shoe has slipped off the back of my ankle. It was clearly an accident, but since he stepped on it, my heel has felt constant pain. (In fact, my heart feels just the same, mildly bruised.) A pinch of blood seeps through my sock, yet I remain unaware. I will discover it later I am sure.
Sometimes not knowing is easier. Sometimes there isn’t enough to be gained in the falsities sold to you, in the lies disguised as truth, in the breaking that comes unloose.
Run, Run and gather it up. Your soul is leaking.
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