Crazy People Poetry
Winter passed his trials on to her and listened as the sorrows of such a gift echoed off her mental walls. She hid in padded rooms and was warmed by a cozy straight jacket.
Spring was the fence that needed to be jumped in order to escape to freedom. Clusters of busy days narrowed in fast, taking her hostage but she wouldnt give in to cold demands. For she planned, when mayday come to run.
But she ran, that night instead.
Ripped skin hung off barbed wires and blood trailed down criss-cross metal. She ignored the red on her hands and blistered on her feet. She ran and ran and kept on running. Till she died of hypothermia.