Sep 2016
gone,
gone without anything to prove she had ever been there
gone without even the slightest trace,
without a letter or a goodbye or a see you on the flipside,
no.
nothing.
nothing but the dead air that used to be filled
with rants and ideologies
no one really listened to
anyways.
she was just gone,
not a soul to say if she went east or south or if she took a
train or car or plane or
no,
nothing.
a dead town full of dead breathing people lugging around
suitcases stuffed with papers
covered in meaningless numbers,
meaningless, unless of course,
those numbers fed you.
a vicious cycle of eating and retreating from the dreams you had when you were young, but not her
no,
she's gone.
ran like hell to escape the lions in their cages and the edges in the faces of people living only to survive,
only to carry on their ******* last time,
or to make a dime
just so they could drink to all they've accomplished in a more expensive bar
than their old friends
who are starving on the streets
because their boss made some cuts.
cutting ties
cutting strings
cutting corners
cutting out the only parts of life that make it worth the 80 years of pushing pushing pushing but no.
you won't catch her on the street corners wiping away her mascara and
running late to work and
no you won't see her
desperately clawing for a life
that doesn't exist in the age that we live in.
she walked or ran or swam or bit the bullet, who's to really say but in any case she's
long gone
and no one tried to find her.
running away killed the same cat that didn't die from curiosity
cause what they leave out in that saying is cats have
nine lives
and so did she.
did. does. to reiterate, who's to say.
someone said no, someone took
a stand and said
******* to society
******* to a home that felt more like a jail cell and
******* to a town where things go in circles rather than forward.
no handshakes exchanged or tears shed to mark her
leaving,
no,
nothing.
she disappeared and became the same kind of ghost you read about in
poetry because
you will never stop trying to live
when you realize everyone else
is already dead.
gone without anything to prove she had ever been there
gone without even the slightest trace,
without a letter or a goodbye or a see you on the flipside,
no.
nothing.
nothing but the dead air that used to be filled
with rants and ideologies
no one really listened to
anyways.
she was just gone,
not a soul to say if she went east or south or if she took a
train or car or plane or
no,
nothing.
a dead town full of dead breathing people lugging around
suitcases stuffed with papers
covered in meaningless numbers,
meaningless, unless of course,
those numbers fed you.
a vicious cycle of eating and retreating from the dreams you had when you were young, but not her
no,
she's gone.
ran like hell to escape the lions in their cages and the edges in the faces of people living only to survive,
only to carry on their ******* last time,
or to make a dime
just so they could drink to all they've accomplished in a more expensive bar
than their old friends
who are starving on the streets
because their boss made some cuts.
cutting ties
cutting strings
cutting corners
cutting out the only parts of life that make it worth the 80 years of pushing pushing pushing but no.
you won't catch her on the street corners wiping away her mascara and
running late to work and
no you won't see her
desperately clawing for a life
that doesn't exist in the age that we live in.
she walked or ran or swam or bit the bullet, who's to really say but in any case she's
long gone
and no one tried to find her.
running away killed the same cat that didn't die from curiosity
cause what they leave out in that saying is cats have
nine lives
and so did she.
did. does. to reiterate, who's to say.
someone said no, someone took
a stand and said
******* to society
******* to a home that felt more like a jail cell and
******* to a town where things go in circles rather than forward.
no handshakes exchanged or tears shed to mark her
leaving,
no,
nothing.
she disappeared and became the same kind of ghost you read about in
poetry because
you will never stop trying to live
when you realize everyone else
is already dead.
