A Certain Type

So much of life spent running
As though it were a bad thing?
You recline in your wheelchair as you curse the walking
You think I don’t see the curl at the corners of your lips?
It’s quite perverse, to be honest
Two peas in a pod
I’m selfish because I walk alone
And you’re selfish so you slash my tires
“Welp, guess you’ll have to stay here another night.”
That’s where true evil lies
You clip wings, I only cut ties
But how much of your life was inevitable?
How much of this
Could I actually avoid?

I think of running and the skies open up
You have to be a certain type to know what that feels like
You have to be a certain type
Legs burning, lungs screaming
And through cries, you feel the need
To tear the very fabric of this world apart
Your pretty fingers curled ‘round darkness
Kneeling, it licks your hand
You feel alive
Life isn’t in a room
Life isn’t on a page
Life isn’t in your arms
Life is desire
I will run toward it – break my legs and I will crawl

*sigh*

You could never understand this
You have to be a certain type

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