Runs(Helena Lojic) Running. I am forever running. A large hole was cut from my life, and the nature of it tells me to run, leaving a trail of memories behind.

I was good, once. My situation rapidly sank when the hole came, so that now I feel I belong to a low group. I run from this, and head lower. Each time I run I can see where I am headed, I know it is worse there, but how can I stop myself?

If only people would leave me alone, then I might stay in one position. But they fool around, trying to make me feel better. All I see is straight ahead, to my breaking point. Occasionally they will take me back, step by step, to almost where I came from. I feel stretched out, and all tight, not relaxed as I should be. I always regress, back further away from the hole and closer to my breaking point.

I have nearly reached the point of my destruction. I am reaching out for it. I have done it. I am taken home, and put in the rubbish bin. There are no funeral services for old ripped stockings.

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