I want to go somewhere no one can find me.
Go somewhere where nothing is defining.
Read and write poetry out loud to or with some one who will actually listen.
Someone who understands.
Do nothing but watch and listen.
Paint our own Jean Michel Basquiat or Jackson ******* paintings while listening to records of all sounds around the world.
Leave the doors open to the surrounding woods.
To the small town down the road a few miles.
Lay on a blanket under some trees.
Plant a tree.
For I feel as if I'm losing my mind cooped up in a room where barely any moonlight could reach me.
I want leave.
Go far away.
Start all over.
But bring her with me.
I'd rather live in Greenwich than live in this suburban masked waste land where parents go to live out the rest of their land lives.
******* any where but here.
*******.
Any where.

Garrett Johnson.