Delusions By Joshua T, 15  

This happiness is a delusion
like the pure ecstasy in your smile.
Now I have come to the sad conclusion
that you grow ever-more distant with every mile.

My feet blister as I run from your grasp
bursting, bleeding, rubbing raw
stinging and burning, throbbing like the bite of an asp
then it seems, at the black bird's caw

I run not from you
but from my own demise
there is no hope for something new
no matter how far, no matter the disguise

I cannot out-run my fate
it will always find and haunt me
no matter the hour, early or late
there is no hope for me
no hope for me to be free