Run

before the sky falls over your dreams

and wraps them around your fists

closed tight to hold onto

your many reflections.

Run, before a universal truth

collides into your face nose first

and suffocates the ego from your

frame.

Run, before the suitcase that you hold,

heavy with experience and misery,

cherished memories and temporary madness,

is too heavy to let you step, and secures you

in place like a tree, so that your roots might grow

so that you flower

and hope that its nectar is not made from

poison

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