We all have that one thing,
That one thing we don’t speak about.
Something only hinted at,
Between lines of cryptic words.
If even that.
I run a lot,
even when I’m not moving I’m running.
There are things from which I cannot escape,
Because in the shadows of my heart,
A pack of monsters prowl.
Hunted, haunted, cursed.
I’m not afraid of the monsters under the bed,
They can’t hold a candle to what’s already in my head.
So I run,
I run because I know I can’t fight.
I don’t have violence in me,
My heart doesn’t burn.
All my rage is spent.
My anger is like the cold chill in the winter air,
They say I’m a good person,
That I am kind.
So long as I can keep these ghosts imprisoned,
Keep them from haunting someone else,
I’ll continue to run ~
Even if my lungs explode.
Guys like me,
We don’t lead a hero’s life.
We’re not heroes.
We’re far too selfish to deserve a brand like that.
A hero wouldn’t need…
to be rescued.
Especially not from themselves.