Running

Turn around.

Walking through a pool

dark and thick as oil.


This is night.
Turn Around.

Sounds inhaled by the

all-encompassing emptiness


of four a.m.
Turn. Around.

She can’t catch the sound

of her own haunted steps.

Can’t remember how the


streets echo in hours of


Light.
Turn Around.

Oblivious, unknowing. Choking

in Fear. Calling out in

her mind. Help! Anyone.

There’s no one here to

sense worry.
Turn Around!

Breaths pulse within her.

Pounding. Pushing out in

puffs of frost, like blood


from a womb.
TURN AROUND.

Falling. Crumbling. Ruined.

Teeth to the pavement.

Pants to the sidewalk.

Tearing out her laughter.

Summer nights on Weeping Creek.

Gentle kisses under stars.

Forgetting all is well.

No goodness in the world.


No love.



Fertility.


Compassion.

No me. No you.


No us...



Please turn around.


Run, Run!



Before he slams



your empowered soul



into that wrought-iron





fence.


Takes your freedom,



sense of self.
Turn around, Holly.

He’s coming so fast.