magnetic molten lava attraction

my heart roars from my chest like a lion on mescaline. the pace is intoxicating, i feel like a boquet of life in the midst of glorius explosions. my atoms are colliding and the sky is the only applicable route. welcome to pangaea, now let me show you the sky. the sky. the haze of all this fades to obscurity only as fast as my legs can tear me away from it. the density of the plant-life alarmingly expected. i console myself that this is the only kind of place that this kind of thing could happen in. oh god, the sky. ripped once more from my displacement, i'm thrown back into this mirage, these trees and this sky... no shoes? why wouldn't i bring shoes to something like this? the movement. fuck the shoes. i haven't needed them for this half of what feels like eternity and i doubt i need them for the next. i'm still running. wait, why am i running, like this? where to, or more importantly where is it that 'to' entitles? my heart. OH GOD, i forgot my heart. my chest is beating like a rebellion. France is on fire, France is in flames! France is in flames? Whatever that means can't distract from the war drum that beats only to me. I know why i run only when i abandon my explainations and flimsy segways. without reason, i find my understanding. i run to the sky.