sometimes i think about running away
slipping between the wooden doors, down
the street, take a left, barefooted as the
wind passes by, whispering uncertainties down my ears
would anyone watch me and wait
would anyone watch me and think me out of
place?
or would i blend in beautifully invisible, like
the crowd in new york
existing only for their memories
existing in photos of people, but never on
my own
existing as the face people remember as
they think of fear
existing as the last locks of hair someone
saw as i ran
away
away
away
