I will text you from Spain….!

“Run, Run as fast as you can you cant catch me, I am the ginger bread man”

Its time to run again. Just pack up a bag and slide out of existence, may be this time will be the last. Each time I run I tell myself things will be better this time.

I ran from my parents and the horror that was my childhood, I ran from the memory’s and the endless silent torment. It wasn’t just the then and now, but the time to come. If I had of known back then what I know now I would have ended my life. Its not just the violence and abuse of back then, its the threads that cross over, those endless lengths of chains you are shackled with for all of life, that drag on and on into the future. Remind you from where you came.

I can not wash the blackness from the past off my skin, I can not wash the pain from my mind, not even great Neptune’s oceans hold enough water to bathe me clean, and cleanse me from the time before.

I don’t look at my life as living, just existing, always waiting for that one big chance, that one event that will make everything alright, but of course it never comes. Not even drink can shut out the pain, pass me the vodka.

Its the endless nights where thoughts reach in, its the lack of trust, respect, its the not knowing of the unknown, unseen, always waiting always there. Its the power of the words used in hate and spite that haunt you in the dead of night, the howling wolves that remind you danger is everywhere.

Its the fact that everything you touch becomes tainted, darkened, distorted, its the ripples your life creates on those of others, its the unintentional of not knowing and the hurt you cause.

Its in trying to be that you un-become and all you are left with is the silent memory’s of what could have been. Its knowing that you need others, but that you carry with you a deadly infection, that your involvement with others means that you will infect them, you will cause pain. It is the baggage you carry around when your broken inside.

Its picking up the pieces of what is left of your life, time and time again, its the endless need to run, to scream and to shout. Its the sitting in the happy ever after knowing that its only a fairy tale, one of which you have no part, you do not belong.

Its the being left outside in the cold, in the dark, while fires burn warm inside, its the longing to step in to the warm and stand by that fire, to finally belong, be welcomed with open arms, but knowing that you are not welcome, and even if you were you would infect those around  destroy everything they have, to be slung back out in the cold even less of what you were  before.

Its the endless questions, the wondering why you are so bad, like your hands are covered in thick oil based paint no matter how much you scrub, the infection gets worse, everything you touch becomes covered to, damaged for all of time.

Its the need to heal, that just makes things worse, pulling yourself apart, pulling the world apart, that constant run uphill when the wind is against you and nothing ever falls easy. Its trying and trying and trying again only to fail once more.

Its knowing that all you can bring is hurt, that you are incapable of love, yet needing so much to feel. Its having to stay away from people, preventing the close and the near, to protect them from you, when all you really want is to make it alright.

When the doors are all shut and the world is at bay, your left alone on the beach of your mind wandering tormented by dreams, that makes you wonder why me?

Better I guess me, than somebody else!

Its time to run again before the hurt sets in, before I drag what I hold most pure and close into the mess that inhabits me.

I can not stand back, I can not hurt you, all that I am is nothing, it is an illusion that you see, a ghost on your mind, its better this way sweet angel of light, much better this way. I will text you from Spain, though you know in your heart that I wont.

“Run, run as fast as you can you cant catch me I am the ginger bread-man”

I don’t want to run anymore.


~ by Duma Key on September 1, 2008.

5 Responses to “I will text you from Spain….!”

  1. Well man kinda hope that you are taking the best decisions fr yrself.. its a heavy load that you bear but you had to make a choice..and you made yours…best of luck

  2. I have no words…I can’t tell you how well I can resonate with this.

    The enormity of the past always keeps haunting us, we cannot escape it, try as we might, we cannot run away from ourselves. But when all else is lost, the future still remains. Yes I know it begins to seem just silly to hold on to hope, to imagine that it’ll be a new dawn, that it’ll be all glorious and everything that should have been…but at then end of the day, hope is all we have.

    The burden you carry can pin you to the ground, can twist your soul and shatter your spirit in two, but that burden will cease to be a burden when you decide to let go…when you decide not to carry it further.

    I can see the painful honesty in your writing. It’s strange that in your words I could identify so much, but I suppose, one of the things words can teach us is that you’re not alone.

    All the best.

  3. You can run away.. But when you decide to stand still and run towards what you where running away from. Things can get tough.. But after that you ll see the sunshine 😉

    Some whise words 😉


  4. you may have already read this,, but as i read your piece i could not help but reflect on my poem, freedom and wonder if maybe i am the aftermath of all the running you are still doing…

  5. Where are we running too? We can ask each the same question over and over again, but we both know there isn’t an answer for there isn’t any place on this earth that just by being in it can make us heal – only we can do that. We need to run into ourselves, but not so far in we can’t see reality, we need to run away from ourselves but not so far we lose perspective of what we are trying to achieve. We need to run away from certain emotions, but we also need to face them head on.

    Running, running…always running…to the shelter of our minds, to the non-reality we have made there, running to different people, different morals, different perspectives, reinventing ourselves time and time again but never just being ourselves. Who are we?

    Here in Spain, there is no magic. I tried, already I am looking for the next place the next move. Always we are running … where are we running too?

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