I’m running down the street I grew up on. The road is so long. It screams through my mind like the flickering light around the culdesac. Growing dimmer until the sun decides to wake itself up and steal the stage. It’s so selfish for stealing more time from the moon. I’ll always hate it for that. Lately I feel like a chore. God, please help me learn how to reach forward without reaching too far and falling. I’m always falling. I hate the feeling of falling as you wake up from a nightmare before you hit the bottom. Which part am I dreaming about ? I can’t pinpoint the sadness and where it slithered in- caught it’s fangs from reaching too hard to grab it. I’ve never been the same since, because once taste that poison you never need anything else to feed you. I don’t need you to tell me you care I need you to show me how you bleed- and I promise my scars will be darker than yours. I just want to believe that the cement won’t swallow me – and if I were to send a letter to the people who own the house I grew up in, I’d tell them to love it how I did. I’d tell them to reach for the tree limbs in the back yard because they’ll always catch you. Even if you fall. -AMT