I'm still running. I'm still hiding.
There are no reasons to run away, there are no reasons to hide, but I still do so.
One. Two. Three. I look away and there's nothing I can see.
I'm still running away. I'm still hiding away. And while I run, and while I hide, I look for the immense danger, I look for the immense adrenaline. I want him, one more time; him, who have had the pleasure of my body; him, who after pissing me off and making me telling him to stop and forced me to take him inside of me. I want to feel him, one more time... two more times... I want to feel and the lust and the madness of a full moon howling, in the streets of the city.
I walk down the dark and cold streets (I'm glad that I've mentioned them) and I look back, after listening to what seemed like a weep. Cats fighting or breeding a few more of them. They make strange noises, in the dark and cold streets, while they face each others. And I look back, because it might be the killer that I look for at times, while hunting down the danger and the adrenaline, of a dark alley. A wet, dark alley, that has the smell of piss, where a dark man takes me away from myself.
I keep running and I keep hiding, while I expose myself right in front of their eyes.
I keep running. I keep hiding.
While young thugs piss me off and their shirty conversation feels like imminent rape.
I keep doing something else. And running. And hiding.