Behind me all I

Hear is the rustle

Of rotting leaves

And broken branches

From withered trees.

The wind whips a cross

My smooth freckled

Face, tormenting me

Very slowly. It's my

Special warning.

Air isn't reaching

Irritated aching l

Lungs, gasping for

Its sweet nectar,

It hurts to breathe.

Fear grips me down

To my tarnished soul,

Bleeding its way into

My broken and over-

Worked system.

My body jerks

With each step

My bloody and torn

Feet take, shocking the

Nerves within me.

I want to get

Away. I want to be

Me. I need this long

Lost freedom. I

Need to be me.

Just a few more

Lonesome miles to

Go before my little

Journey can end,

I'm almost there.

They are gone

Soon later. I

Final made it,

No one thought that

I would. It's refuge.