EPHEMERAL; poetry.

five

i used to count my own steps,

and my own heartbeats,

i used to be, be, be

as free as the freezing wind.

but there was a thought,

i couldn't escape from;

it was always living there;

it was so fucking alive.

i've always

wanted to escape

from my own skin,

and run as fast i could.

eventually, i am going to die.

and even in my last breath,

i will keep thinking

about how  to escape,

but darling, even though

my heart will stop pumping,

i'll still have the same handwriting,

and the same flesh and bones.

i guess,

i can't escape

from what's living

inside of me.