Heading out and running to empty air filled with expectations that don’t care
who revives or decides fate into doling out what was given long before I breathed my existence into light.
Light. The dark follows and harkens my steps even with the source waiting to replenish the discards of the day that is passing.
Passing. I sprint by with the vigor of youthful opulence that I had once
and will have again
when I reclaim the days that have left me assembling for future absences.
Absence. Away and gone is my soul sometimes
as I wind around the bars of loneliness, I march into the dreads of tomorrow.
Tomorrow. If tomorrow was yesterday the nights would win.