Run

Run, run, you fucker, run.
There’s nothing here for you,
except the mess that you caused.

Remains of people and hope lie behind
so run as fast as you can. Run for the
darkness that will let you think.
Run for the quiet that will silence the shouting
already there.

Run away. That’s all you’re good for.
Run from the last thing that was working.

Except there is no darkness in the city
to compare with the darkness here,
and there is no silencing the noise,
constant noise, ringing in your ears.

Run you worthless fucker, run.

Except there is nowhere to run to,
just proof that there is so much worse
for so many other people. Real suffering
not the pathetic, worthless mess, that you
cause.

Sit there. As close to peace as possible, close to the river, but still unseen.

Cold on the wood of the bench, unaware of the late passers-by.

Sinking deep into the seat and deeper into darkness.

As your heart slows and the blood stops rushing so hard, there is space for some thought.

A chink in the dark - just a blink of light. The cold digs in,
and shivering starts.

Empty now and bereft.
Exhausted by the panic that ran you so far.
There is just enough left to hope for acceptance on return. Head up.