2000 miles

Running against the walls,
and diving into the sky,
His muscles pumped with adrenaline.
The fine lines standing out,
and shine on the metal in his hand.
He wanted to slit, no punch,
or maybe a kick.
But yes, he wanted to knock him down.

In the crowd, where no soul,
was a man,
He wanted to stand up.
The world was an illusion for him.
and belief was his passion.
He knew he would make it.
He believed he could break it,
since it could be made again.
And broken again.

But then again, he heard music,
and demons and roses.
He liked water and bees.
And nails and magnets.