It’s running its course through my veins, around this time of the year when the air gets cold.
I need to be out, I need to go exploring, to go a-wandering. To escape the restrain of this house, of this room. These glaring, florescent lights a pathetic replacement for the moon’s soft gaze.
I don’t need to fly to another world, nor take a boat and drift off to neverland.
I just need to be out, to walk and think and maybe not think, but to walk around and wander about and listen and breathe in the icy-cool winds, the freshness of empty streets.
Walk down the middle of the road, touch every grainy lamp post, every rough sidewalk.
I don’t know why but I can’t escape this feeling. Can’t get rid of the need to peel this tight, suffocating flesh off my body, step out off it dripping in blood and water, pure and clean and perfectly detached from everything that’s keeping me here.
I need to leave, I can’t stay here anymore. I can’t stay in this skin, stay in my position, in my resposibilities, in this lacklustre, pathetic excuse of a life. I need to start living, to escape and be by myself, to walk about and feel the warm-cool air swirl around my body in a heavenly mist, and to form a new skin above my bones; never really touching, never clinging.
This isn’t a life.