8-28-13

Cloudy night
Making my own clouds
I put it down
Making my own winds
Tornadoes turning into mushrooms
They remind me of Hiroshima
My hands go through the metal nets
Why am I here?
No breeze
Just the slight murmer of stories untold
I'm alone in my own thoughts
Remembering the pain I went through
Wanting to get up
Wanting to leave
But I'm surrounded by black lines
Lines made of steel
Too close together
So, here I wait
In my own little world
Half-listening to stories
That will never make it out of here
Stories that no one else will ever here