Being aware, as a trespasser.

We are the ones that don't belong,
swaying with the urgency to never be seen,
to leave our footprints in a code
we think is some sort of secret.
They know who we are,
amused by our childish games
and obvious desires to be chased,
to be caught and never know the punishment.
Those we've left behind
must only feel our betrayal
and not the sun's heat,
the deadly atmosphere,
because we promised to stay together,
promised we'd remember.
I have reason to believe
everyone's forgotten,
but if I turned back now,
I'd be forgotten too.
The footsteps I made sure to leave
have been trampled by the noise
of my heart.
No one can help them now.