• Running,
    I collapsed into a pile of now shattering plates and bowls.
    Getting up,
    I softly touch the wounds on my face.
    A STING immediately rushes through me.
    No time,
    Must keep running.
    As I run now
    I feel the cold air against my skin,
    My wounds
    Coldly harsh.
    Not knowing where I'm headed
    I brush against cold, wet pine needles.
    Dark now
    I hear the withering screams,
    the screams of a mad man.
    As i sit
    Afraid and alone
    In a world I don't understand,
    I hope somehow...
    The angels will come down and protect me.