I am a runaway.
I left home
so many years ago
its hard even remembering
what it was
that almost killed me.

My shell remained for a bit,
a shadow against the wall
darkening the furniture
moving silently
from room to room,

like a ghost
who every so often
tossed over a table or broke a mirror
just to watch their reaction.

Ultimately,
that was unsatisfying
and I grew tired
of the sport;
even shadows move
with the Sun.

There were parting gifts
and a big send off;
they cried and seemed sad,
unknowing still to now
what was already long long gone.

We loaded the Gremlin to the rafters
with every last piece of me
that'd fit,
and whatever got left behind
they threw out within days.

And still
I traverse those rooms
and them people
searching
for redemption.

Want to comment on this Poetry? Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Poetry and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...