The grey gets deeper,
As the shaded tones spark up,
And as it merges into the black of your form,
I feel like running.
I don't pick the direction anymore,
Towards or away,
My feet guide me and I move,
The spinning motion makes me sick,
The lurching stop can't be fixed.
How do I get through,
The gates that won't break,
Or jump the wall,
That gets higher with every breath I take.
The mountain I can no longer climb,
The pain is getting worse by night,
The breeze is too cold,
And its shattering within me now.
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