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May 2018
Do you ever feel like leaving?
No letter. No excuse.
Just an empty room,
and a note that says,
“I’m in paradise now,
it’s about time.”

I feel like I am homesick
for the places I have never seen.
Like the graffiti in the sky
And the clouds on the walls.
The smiles on faces.
Instead of seeing…
People who force themselves
to dream of places
with endless fields
of grasses and flowers
while the sound gunshots
ring through their ears.

A place far from vile men
who want the world for themselves.
A place where you can just run.
Run without the fear of
losing your breath
or getting tired.
Running until you fall asleep,
and then running some more.

A place where you can eat dinner.
Not a place where
you force the ashes
of your dead family
down your throat.
Swallowing cries
and whimpers…
Eating your own flaws.

A place where you don’t
have to feel obligated
to use your last breath
to apologize for
bleeding on someone’s shirt
as they look you in your eyes
and slit your throat
that once laughed through the day.
All I hear now is echoes.

A place where you aren’t in a room,
with your phone clutched in one hand,
the other slapped across your mouth.
Hoping your cries won’t
be the last
gut wrenching sound
that departs from
place that
was more than
the echoes.

21 century.
The age of
broken homes,
suicidal kids,
and bullets in skulls.

We always want change,
But we can’t move past the things that
have haunted our ancestors.
We begin to dream,
dream of all things
to the point where
we don’t notice these haunted things
happening again.
Hypnotized by golden fire,
not noticing it burn with us.

We drink the poison
Poured by our own mistakes
And we cry about feeling so sick.

We are in the tough place between
moving on and letting go.
Bound by broken things
begging to be set free.

I just want to live somewhere
Lined houses,
with fences,
and chimneys
wide enough for Santa

But we can’t have that yet.
We’re not ready to move on.
Its gets bad before it gets better,
But it blows up before
it has the chance to grow.

And I just wish I could leave
see graffiti in the sky,
and clouds on the walls.

I want to hear the sounds
in a silent movie.
Never mind.
I want to listen
to the silence.
Written by
meg  F/neverland
         jul, Valsa George, Grace, Edmund black, bakunawa and 19 others
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