Run, mad bastards

Run, mad bastards.
Run because you can.
Run because it matters even if it doesn’t.
Run because someone put the finish line over there.
Run after the ghosts of your previous runs.
Run to the unforgiving rhythm of your calculated pace.
Run with atoms exploding in your chest.
Run to the end of your rope and then keep running.
Run through the echo chamber of your solitude.
Run through the soup of your despair.
Run like you’re the sole-surviving runner.
Run with kilometres collapsing behind you like houses of cards.
Run to the finish line that is running away from you.
Run through hot bullets of exhaustion.
Run like the end of an action movie.
Run like the only thing that exists is to run.
Run because soon it will be done and you’ll never have to do this again
ever, for the entire rest of the day.
Run hard, hating it, and call it fun.
Run, mad bastards, run!


Marcel Currin November 2018