“Run, you’re free now!”

They exclaim so swiftly 

as though I have a place to go.

As though I am expected 

to close my eyes, 

have no fear,

and find myself in the center 

of the Berlin square, 

gazing up at the world clock.

As though I am expected 

to stand confident and tall after I

exit a dark forest of colors 

muddied from the spring. 

As through I am expected, 

to look upon that wilderness 

as if it were 

a painting of Pablo Picasso’s.

One with no edges, and 

gulp down it 

like a green organic smoothie.

But when I try, I choke 

on the face of the wendigo 

watching me

from behind the trees.

My world looks more 

like a sea that I stand before.

Like the coast of Myertl Beach

crowed from spring break,

strangers packed together 

like abnormally small cuddle fish 

bobbing in the sea.

Their faces grimace with 

agony from the freezing waters,

waters colder than that of Rasputin’s.

But because I’ve awaited, 

for as long as the dinosaurs

I try to escape it.

As I push through the crowd,

the faces of strangers shift 

into those I know,

shift into memories 

from so long ago.

Taylor Swift playing in the car as I wait patiently, innocently. It’s a Sunday morning and I cannot wait to go enjoy breakfast with my father. I dream of the bacon that is not completely crisp, but not completely fatty.

I embrace my Best Friend as we dance in the summer evening. The air is muggy

and warm, as the thurderstrom sits on the horizon. It’s filled with power, and we embody it as we continue to shout the letters of supercalifragilisticxpialidocious.

Our counselor rambles in an assbely about how high school history teachers will 

be nothing like those of my middle school. I know I should be listening, but 

my eyes gaze beyond her knee high chocolate leather boots, they gaze at a boy named Carson.

They’ve sat,

they’ve waited,

like hieroglyphics engraved in the base my tomb.