Vitesse

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A litany, a promise, a prayer.

Run.

I run so fast, I will tear out of this sordid flesh, out of gilded skin and ivory bone.

I see myself: I am hollow, a pit of red.

I am the colour of blood, the colour of rage. The colour of flesh, the colour of shame.

I can see it: I am shackled, by these strands of vein. They coil around me, tighter, tighter, I cannot breathe.

I see the cage, clearer than ever, this prison of flesh.

I see this promise, I hear its oath.

Run, it whispers. If you run fast enough, you’ll break free.

And so, I do.

---

I run on fear, I run on fire.

I run for pain, the excruciating burn of desire. I burn for the exquisite absence of thought.

I run so fast, I leave behind my self, I will rust away until there is nothing left of me. Out of breath, out of life.

I want to lose myself, in the purest sense of the phrase, I want to forget, to be misplaced. I want to leave behind this life.

Bone to dust; blood can rust.

I run to death.

---

I see the cage, clearer than ever, this prison of red.

I hear these voices, I trust in their message.

Run, they whisper. If you run fast enough, you’ll break free.

I know I can.

I know I can.

---

Photo by Bryson Hammer on Unsplash

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