Run

foreign meekly mind of mine,

travelling miles with horizon’s smiles.

back there, i couldn’t bear

to spill myself and dance with gloom.

my heart has a vast of space

to blast off great days,

leaving a room for a dark embrace.

i guess we don’t need the rain

when eyes had completed the water cycle.

puffy, reddish and rubbed from pain.

i don’t have a fucking bicycle

to ride away in great distances

because those clouds’ existence

up in the blue bed of the hidden,

don’t seem to look the same.

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