Runaway
Run away, far away where the bitter world will not penetrate your fortress. The sky will be your ceiling. The trees know your pain with the whipping of the wind, a cruel reminder of your suffering. The repetitive motion of your arm like that of your master's. Run away, where they will never find you. The raw whip will never touch your flesh. Be free of the shackles of your master. . . Run away.
The burrs of the woods cling to your rags. The thorns still pierce the tough skin. The skin that endured a thousand lashes, still is soft and penetrable. The sticks and stones make your feet sore from the touch. The wind covers your tracks so you can't be found. You want to relax, but you fear you can't. Why? Why can't you stop? Why must you run away?
It's a familiar song stuck on repeat. The same notes seem so familiar. You've been through this all before. And each time the hope builds up. The hope that you'll finally be free. Your breathing brings you pain. A soothing pain that raises your spirits. A pain that comes from running. A pain that comes from running away.
You reach a cave. The cave the others sang about. 'Follow the trail of tears to freedom' they sang. 'Open your eyes and see. The path of freedom calls to you. Follow it and you'll be free'.