Inked Sins

I think I was born with a suitcase in my hands.

Always ready, always packed.

People promised me forever.
But forever always had an exit door.

So I became the one who leaves first.

I slip out before the goodbye.
Before the look in their eyes changes.
Before the warmth turns into a cold room.

I run, and I call it traveling.

I call it freedom.

I call it chasing horizons.

But really, it’s just me
trying to outrun the echo of being left behind.

I want to leave as soon as I can.
The place,
the people,
the heartbeat I just learned.

If I abandon everything,
everything,

then maybe nothing can abandon me.

This is how I protect myself.
I scatter pieces of me across cities.
Leave memories like footprints in sand.
Never staying long enough
for anyone to notice
how much I want to stay.