It's echoing. My voice. Against the cold, hard walls of stone.
The crack of bright light blinds me. I rush out of my prison, into tunnels and tunnels of torches on the walls, a contant running water under my feet, slashing the sides of my prison.
I catch sight of you.
You're coming closer. I snatch glimpses of you ever turn I make. I can feel your presense.
Salty sweat pours from my forehead.
I've never been more alive. Not afraid, but pumped with epinephrine. I want you under /my/ hold, but I'm too busy, now, running from my prison.
 Inspiration Staff · Sun Sep 27, 2009 @ 08:47pm · 0 Comments |
