You can’t escape self-discovery, no matter how uncomfortable the process may feel. Reality and the inevitability of ugly enlightenment will always chase and catch you.
“Get on your Mark.
As hard and as far as your body parts can go.
There’s death on that road, it’s where the past looms
You’re racin’ daylight now, girl
Don’t let the stars catch you.”
It said,“Fly into the Wind Sheila, fly hard and fast.
Escape from those cold zones and their darkest paths,
where the Unknown holds throne and harbors past
mistakes…trust me, you don’t want no parts of that.
You don’t want no parts of this…life, as hard as it is.
So Run Sheila, run…this kinda darkness is quick.”
Fight or Flight? Sheila’s fear and nervousness soared
She took heed to the command and floored her Accord.
Her mom’s voice was unforgettable.
Was it the worry it bore?
Or was it because Sheila had never really heard it before?
It was just a mental composite of pitches and sound bytes
honed to the exact tone of what a mom must sound like.
See, she didn’t remember when her mom ran out.
But hell, it’s nothin’…
She was so young…still had the clamp on her belly button.
So the voice spoke in moments when she needed the calm;
advice from the ghost of a woman…
who may not even be gone.
The irony never escaped her; she was too swift a runner.
Her world existed in the lit few feet past her dented bumper.
She was a chemistry explosion: noisy, bright, but simple.
… kinetic energy in motion… avoiding life’s potential.
She pierced the night with her headlights as the dark returned,
running towards some familiarity still marked as hers.
The same picket fence, the same house…away from respirators
and strange, dying women who hire private investigators.
Toward a shrinking twilight she never lifted her eyes from,
the last vestiges of what’s known in a slivered horizon.
What can the darkness give anyway? Some intangible mystery?
Answers that may not hold a candle to her fantasy’s memory?
There are demons in there, dimensions of horrible tension
Non-returnable hurt, and unquenchable, horrid resentment.
A closet full of skeletons, all happy to just laugh at her…
Nah, fuck that…
they’re gonna have to catch her first.
So she flew at top speeds, clocking one hundred at least;
her mascara running and forming black lines under her cheeks.
She’d go home, bundle up each letter, have them bound and trashed.
Erase the answering machine, and shred down each fax.
She’d forget she ever planned to meet her, or the clown that had
been asked to locate Sheila for a sizeable amount of cash.
Hello? Hi? Why?…really, how d’you ask?
Besides, she kinda liked that imaginary voice…
what if she doesn’t even sound like that?
The brake lights ran up to meet her, and jumped in her sight.
She blinked for the second it took the impact to buckle her spine.
Sheila hit the unforgiving glass head-first. It rolled her face,
forcing her skull to lodge sideways in her shoulder blades.
The shattered glass rained in tingling
tink-tink tinkering tones
told time’s tick-tock tales
as she lay still as a
There’s death on that road, but life continued to run past it.
The sun still set, and horns still blew in the slow-moving traffic.
So run, baby run. Don’t slow down, not an atom’s amount
and you’ll get to tight-rope walk across your shadows of doubt.
Cause those stars will shine
through the mystery that darkness holds…
Like tiny slivers of glass,
reflecting off the concrete’s soul.