It’s the way you turn your head,
Throwing looks over your shoulder.
It’s the way you run,
Throwing one foot out in front of the other.
It’s the way you leap,
Throwing yourself into the unknown.
In every little movement I hear
a little of your fear,
a little of your desperation,
a little of your resilience.
Pounding heart and shaking breath,
desperate and unswerving.
You push through the people around you.
They shuffle and trip, eager to follow –
blank faces and hollow bodies.
Your face is blank, too.
But I know the expression you wore
before they stole it from you.
I hope you can reclaim it,
though I fear that all expression
has already been drained from this world,
which gives a little
but consumes everything.
