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Hurried through
Hunted down
He scurries away behind
Inconsistency.
Never far
Always winding
The road he takes
Resembles that
He just left.
Confused by the noise
He scrambles back down
The path that
Will lead him
To her door
As he hears them coming
Ever closer.
* Why do we lie to ourselves?
© 2004 José Sevillano