Theres a place where I go,
its harmony and bliss and worries roam like clouds over someone elses head,
my footsteps are smaller, I'm lighter and happiness is here.
This place is a secret garden, there are others here too.
They are not my friends, yet there is comfort in their vacant stares.
They are floating too, high on forgetfulness.
Masking some other unfortunate reality that we can not escape.
Once the gate locks its difficult to remember why its so bad here.
Why my "happy" place is darkened by recreational neglect and uncomfortably bright sounds.
Reality is just an echo in my heart.
My want to go home fights my urge to stay and it rips through me. It always wins.
Theres a trick that the magician hasnt shown me yet.
I want to go home, but here I forget.