The Woods
I ran through it.
My arms are ribbons twirling around.
There is always a spot available.
On a bench which is made up of livelihoods like mine.
But there’s something so nice about sitting down.
When there is nowhere else to sit.
This is the most splintering kind of panicking.
This bench is made of old wood.
So it’s one of those woodsy types of places to sit.
And everyone does sometimes.
It’s the most ruined, run down panicked feeling.
The last person who sat here?
I think he was a music teacher.
I can tell by the music he left in my head.
On this bench which seems to conform to my body like a couch cushion.
I think he stopped following me.
So I can fall asleep in the woods.
Wouldn’t it be weird if I kept running?
I thought so too.
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