Street Touches

Running through the middle of the street, seems safer,


no shadows, less fear, the sense of pain no less i fear.



Running from the lie, peace not found; death does


not care if you stand up or lie down.



Running from the hurt, agony and dread, bullets


in the chest makes constant my blood that is shed,


as the body’s actions wind down, I whimper; No more


running for me, as i sink to the ground.



Street is wet from a newly fallen rain; the sweet taste


of the street is like nectar to my brain. Running down


the seconds like a childs wind up toy; my life ebbs from


my chest as water down the drain. Death is a friend so


close, and now there is simply no fear; for the end of my


life as it draws steadily near.



Running from the pain gave me no sweet relief;


anger, then hope, sorrow, finally; just total release.


So i fled for my life which was already taken. Running


was wise; for her it is why i died, so her kisses not tasted;


perhaps in another life might be mine.
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