Her Dream

Later you told me that you had seen me
through the treeline
Pale, like the moon in the sky
my limbs moving swiftly
You said you called out, caught my gaze
fleeting and furtive
Face quickly turning towards something
you could not see
Who were you then, you asked
that you would run from me?

Doors

It is in so many ways like a flower that is afraid of the sun. What do the innards look like? Are the colors ugly? The risk is too great! I must hide myself, lest the world see the garish truth and the clashing petals. It is in this way that I become a frigid thing, locked away inside many rooms. I pace the floors and I know these tiles so well that my mind begins to believe that I have imagined the ones before them. I can still recall the scent of her perfume. I close that door.
Running, I find that I am lost among many memories, and that another has been stripped from me; no matter how many frames I beat upon, it is gone, gone, gone.

Voices

Laugh all you want; you won't find the cracks in my interior.
Watching from the black: you only see what you want to see.
I've got you wrapped in chains. You can't escape.
I know what you are, and you don't fool me.
Naked in the dark, we know each other intimately.
We are but two halves of the same coin. Yin and yang.
You push and I pull; we will tear the world apart.
Shattered glass and indecisive waters hide nothing.
You'd like to see it all in flames, but I am liquid nitrogen in your veins.
Reach for it now: the words you won't voice.
You can't live without me. I am the skin you wear.
Formless in the sun, I am the only eye that sees your outline.

Bottom of the Well

I ran from the world in the same manner that I ran from myself. It was a frenzied thing: thoughts scattered; emotions torn, raw, bloodied; reasoning and motive nonexistent. To me, running was the only outcome. It was my way to escape when no other solutions were clear.
But what is it that I am doing now, down at the very bottom? I tumbled, plummeted straight down, until I hit rock-bottom with a crash that shattered every paradigm, every preconceived idea that I had about the reality of the world that I had run from. And, of course, myself.
I questioned. I tasted of myself and my surroundings with the taste buds of my soul, and I pondered. Answers, questions, unanswered questions, doubts, dreams, and mysteries pierced at my being with every breath drawn. I was a blank slate, unmolded clay, a canvas yet to be painted upon! The world was new, and I stumbled, unsure and new myself. To be overwhelmed at the magnitude of things is a little like waking up naked in a room full of people you don't know: you feel vulnerable, embarrassed, alarmed -- and either very, very large or very, very small.
The question that remains here is this: am I running back to where I came from, or further away? Or perhaps I am not running anymore at all, and am simply frozen, unable to move, unwilling to change; stagnant in my way of life, my way of thinking, my way of self; utterly immobile, broken, dead.