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The wind whistles around his ears,
tugging at strands of his hair,
beads of sweat dripping across his face,
his feet crunching against the asphalt.
As he turns the corner,
smiling faces, clapping hands,
the ribbons hug his torso as he collapses into it
"and the winner of the Berlin marathon isss........"
He stands atop the podium,
the world at his feet,
a man destined to have it all
" How do you do it?" " What is your secret?"
The journalists ask, cameras shuttering behind them,
His name on every lip " The Human Torpedo"
"They said he ran like the wind,
like a man running from his own shadow,
And indeed he was always running,
Away from the screams, the voices that couldn't let him sleep,
the people that hurt him, the demons,
the hundreds of bottles in his wardrobe,
the broken syringes, the white powder, the massive parties,
fast cars he fought to tame at 3. am in the morning”
Too bad he couldn't run fast enough,
The grief in his heart a burden stuck to him forever,
always right behind him,
and when he got to the edge,
he saw death welcoming him,
promising the quiet he desperately needed and so he jumped,
a smile on his face and a promise in his heart.
And now his body lies peaceful,
The smile still plastered on his face,
A black marble gravestone for remembrance.
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