Their laughter chases us.
The dark sings playfully,
a tune spun viciously
from suicide and from shame.
What’s the name of that tune again?
Though our blood burns,
though our bodies weep,
we keep pace without ceasing.
Though the lengths we run
seem to consume us,
we keep pace without ceasing.
The beating of our feet
batters and bruises the floor,
for we keep pace without ceasing.
And still, their laughter chases us,
steadily gaining.
-r. miller
*Insert Propaganda Here* 