It's cold, very cold. I am a dejected man. I'll admit that, but why does it have to be so fucking cold? My tears have turned to ice, and are burning my face, but I have no time to wipe them away. I must continue running. My quest for escape from my own person hell has not yet reached it's end. I must continue running till I can no longer run.
My drive is someone beautiful; someone I love very much. I must keep running for them. I have to. I must escape, and meet them, and say, "I'm home.", with which they will greet me with, "Thank God!". They will be happy, and I will feel safe in their arms. Safety, something I must seek.
They aren't far behind. I can feel them breathing down my neck; nipping at my heals with their sharpened teeth and their hollow hearts. Anticipating the kill. One I shall make them work for.
"Keep running, keep running...", is all that goes through my head. I can't stop. I mustn't stop. I feel them. They're over coming me. Draining the life from me. I collapse. I try to regain my stance, but my legs collapse underneath the weight. I can't escape. I can't run from imaginary problems.