The Runner

If ever a frailty should be rued, then my emotional resistance of those who hold my affection dearest to them, is the sin that equates my soul with the essence of a Hitler, and condemns my name to the highest degree of infamy, While my heart longs to be understood, my fear of abandonment dictates my legs to gain distance as each loving gesture is offered in repetition, Persistently they reach, only to be disregarded, and embody me within my shame, Friends and family alike, endure the coldness of my introverted haven, staring into my eyes in hopes of disconfirming the projected emptiness that flows from actions, words, or lack of both, As they hurt from me, I scream for them in silence, A deafening continuous stream of soundlessness, that elevates my withheld pain from ache to harrowing, Yet they can only assume the contents of this confession, For my words go directly from mind to paper, and never see the eyes of those who need to know this tenderness, To express such powerful statements and risk the familiar sting of neglect or abandonment once more, is a fear that surpasses every shameful tear, haunting my thoughts as a reminder that lives on insomnia, thus I remain devoted to a faithful vow of solidarity that keeps me sane and sheltered, Moving at a constant pace, racing against my own fright, holding every term or phrase of endearment within, and running from a past that will not be relived by my decree, Alas, with mortal lungs, mechanical legs, and a heart that lies somewhere between the two, I run, for and from, the feeling I desire most....