Just the average poem.

[crankandburn]

and I'm wishing that I could go back,

to that old place

and run;

forgetting everything,

leaving everything behind,

burying the footsteps of my past.

If only I could once again

fly across the pavement

exhilarated and free,

forgetting everything that once was:

racing

running

sprinting

twirling

filling my lungs.

not thinking about expelling.

not thinking about:

what I need to do

what I need to decide

who I have to choose.

but then I remember that I can't.

I can't go back.

there's a hole in my shoes,

cracks in the road,

rain in the sky.

so there's not

a place to be.

exist.

and there's no longer

anyone to race.