What makes us run away?
I suppose not everyone has something they take a sprintin’ from, but I think about the question cause it’s relative to me. Certain situations in my life light a running fire deep in my soul that smokes up my insides to smother me alive and permanently alter my countenance to the point that I look composed, too compelling to run on batteries, too harmonious to be alarming and certainly too full of gratitude to be in flames.
I am the partner anyone would choose to cook with because I am tempered and pain has been melted evenly over my skin until caramelizing into sugar so that when people see me, their mouths water but they don’t know why. It isn’t because I’m sweet. It’s because I’m on fire and my heat is crystal clear.
I am the person anyone would choose to run from because I am boiling over, splattering passion in all directions so that everyone near is scarred by the welts of my madness until their minds blister with puss and their eyes fill with the thought of me but they don’t know why. It isn’t because I’m dangerous. It’s because I’m a sharpshooter of pain and have a bullseye aim.
I have no spinning hooks nor own any pans or stoves, so I run every day.
When the spinning stops, french kiss the one who accepts your ring of fire