Running in place
I’m running,
legs burning, lungs collapsing,
but I don’t know where.
I’m running,
but I’m not moving,
feet pounding on rubber that loops beneath me,
a treadmill made of expectations.
The voices clash,
echoing, looping, spiraling—
questions become truths,
truths become traps.
I’m running,
circles tightening, looping,
chasing a finish line that doesn’t exist,
because I made it up.
The harsh reality hits:
I’m not running away.
I’m running in circles,
on a treadmill made of my own doubt,
and the enemy I’m fleeing—
is me.