I am half-demented, half-ecstatic.

I run away every night under the baleful glare of the moon and I skim the sands of my unreality as I stumble on the brink of quarter-truths that swipe and snatch at my callused ankles.

I burn my incense cones and pow-wow with the four quarters, attempting to give more of myself, as I'd otherwise self-destruct. I name my deities and chant them out every fortnight....

flying, gliding, skimming, scheming....

till my past catches up with me, wrenches me violently around and whispers....

"You can run, but you can't hide....."