Some days I think I might run away –

like a child on an adventure.

Without a care for bills or tasks at hand.

What a disappointment I should be –

to flee from life with such ease.

But my breath sits trapped within my chest,

and I wager on loneliness.

What an empty world so full –

where my comfort lies within unfeeling,

calculated characters.

So much easier to digest the fiction

then to face the reality and have my eyes tear,

my heart ache, my breath cease.

And what echoing cries sit

caged behind flesh?

For no one could hear them anyway.

Who’s around to listen?

In an empty brown house on the corner.