Run a Race

We to he to us when we run.
We to have a singular us when we us.

Knowing too much of what would become of us after the surmising ring of all these bells.
She would be the princess in shining armor.
Ten times over.
Ten times over, dear.
How many times she’d of dreamt about the other side of hell.
And how many times did the mob cry out?!
At least ten thousand! At least a hundred million!
Her eyes not seeing far enough ahead of her to not use her mind instead.
The camaraderie here amongst the people the same as among the sheep.
It is too toxic for the human heart to digest.
It is too much for the others at first to

Run a race.

Run a race.
Don’t turn your back on the sunset.

Run a race.

Run a race.
Strain your heart out, fair maiden.

The day the world ended was the best and the greatest of days for all of us.
She’s having dreams like any other young girl of a similar age.
She has thoughts that want to support neither her logic nor the logic of others.
Well she doesn’t know how to live.
Well she doesn’t know how to die.
But the mission doesn’t revolve around the little minds full of big dreams.
The captain general liked the one who had held onto the balcony longest.
Likewise, that of when she truly ran a race.

Run a race.

Run a race.
Run your race.
Who do you think you are to stop?

Run a race.

Run a race.
You’re alone, you know.

Run a race.

Run a race.

For part — when she stopped running.
For everything — when she wouldn’t take no more.
For lust — when the concept of time didn’t mean anything anymore —
when the concept of time meant everything.
Honey, to feel alive

You’ve gotta run a race.
That’s what they told her.
You’ve gotta run a race to be allowed to die.
Run a race.

Run a race.
Run a race.
This is what freedom feels like.

Run a race.

Run a race.
Run your race.
Ache your heart out, dear maiden.

Coming On Low Wings

On low wings,
You come to me so quiet.
The night is in the day.
The space is in my mind.
Withering lightning —
Blasts of light.
My conscience altered.
The day is wrong.
Behold, the night is right.
Coming on low wings,
You speak to me.
You — coming on low wings —
Should I follow you?

Hide Myself

I think it an odd and ghastly world, but I don’t want to think of it in terms of writing to anyone. Sometimes I lie awake at night and can only think of writing it down. The way I see the world, these things inside me, I don’t want to write them all down, but I want to immortalize some of them. What makes us have such strong urges to immortalize some of us but not all of us? I assume part of it may be a section we are ashamed of. And yet in honesty some of us are not ashamed of any part of themselves, and so if the prior assumption is true, some of us would not have a need to hide any of themselves. So what is it then? The beauty of mystery, the promise of continuation, or in other words, an assurance that there will always be more of oneself to share, these are among the many ideas I would contribute to the subject.

I see before me a vast reach into the sunset. I see a glass window into another place, though the window is truly the door. These illusions are smashed at the corners. It does not remind me of people, but instead repulses me at the mention of their presence around me. I want to run away. I want to run straight into the sunset, across these windows of glass that I would at first gentle touch come to know as inexistent. They welcomed me into their home, but I began to drown because I stayed there too long. This is perhaps when I discovered: I must stay in my own home. I mustn’t move to another. It is then here in my home I hide myself and truly do my utmost to continuously maintain its protection; but you see, I have intruders often.


Rain! The beautiful, the wild, the vast – the undaunted.
Its sound is like that of what the concordance
Of a starting and ending point of life may sound like.
That is if there ever was one.

Lo it rocks its shaky head, and flails on strings pulled taught –
To come down evenly upon mankind –
To suppress its every thought.
On while we wait, and watch, and pray –
We hold too dear to heart –
The very essence of rainkind,
The reality we never started.

Star Dance

Imagine if the stars were


and they fell down from the

onto earth

And we stood

at night

and we danced.

Coming down –

on strings
of joy –

falling like the rain.
they never ended
they just stayed coming –

This is like my love for you.
It is love




The star dance;
The heavens.
The universe makes exceptions

for believers.