Traces of Scars

 I've always ran towards danger to remind myself that there's nothing to be scared of.

Always willing to do everything that scares me, scared

But there's something about this kind of danger

There's something about this kind of fear that makes me contemplate, weigh the pros and cons without ever reaching a decision.

The scars from this fear sounds loud, as though it's echo reverberare in the dark

They look unerasable not even tears can rub them off your skin

They feel imprinted, permanent leaving evidence of what was the greatest tragedy and or the greatest love. There's something about this kind of danger. It exudes haste and reeks escapism.

To run towards or run away from? 

If I am running why are my feet firm on the ground? They're firm with no sign of movement. Why won't they let me elope with solitude?

I've seen traces of the scars of this kind of danger and this time they came knocking with a dying heart to have and hold as my own. I don't want to hold it, it looks heavy. I don't want to have it, it can't be mine. I'm too clumpsy I'll drop it. I tend to be inattentive, I'll forget it....