As I run through dark streets I can’t help looking back,

Knowing my pursuer is about to attack.

As I run these bloody streets I can’t stop to catch my breath,

Can’t afford to get caught, not by this merchant of death.

I’ve been running non-stop, for long years now,

But I can’t stop, I have to outrun it somehow.

My pursuer is crafty, it can take any form,

So for me not trusting, had to become a norm.

Mine is a daily struggle, a struggle for life against death,

A struggle that I can’t give up, until I take my last breath.

How ironic is it though, that I can only beat death with death,

I’m sure someone’s having a laugh right now, as they place their bet.

I see a bridge ahead, and as I duck under,

A thought crosses my mind and I can’t help but wonder.

Even though I’m running, running this fast,

Is there any way I can truly escape my past?