you don’t know why
but you always end up doing something
forcing you to flee.
the scriptwriters have not been nice to you this time.
there are a few stepladders left.
you still don’t know how long will it last?
and there is no doubt.
by heart, you recognize that you are made for this.
quickest exit is always the most complicated,
you are so tired…
in the end, all there’s left
is a pair of damaged things.
piled up scars
in a body unable to feel anything.