On the run

I left for the hills when I smelt your death coming for me, ironic that until then it had been so hard to see.

Two days I traveled by foot through the mountains, disengagement from all the bullshit you’d been spouting.

I camped on the beach with my hand on my knife, to finally know my pursuers, been there all of my life.

Your blacked out sedan drifted on by, I had outrun you and gave out a sigh.

D March 2017

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