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Crimsyy Oct 2016
In the middle of nowhere
is where I'd like to be,
clouds for a roof,
enveloped by trees,
driving into infinity
far, far away
from everyone and everything,
fleeing the persecution
of my mind,
here at least I know
my only purpose
is to breathe
and I shall write thoughtless verses
take me somewhere thoughts
cease to be.
Tiauna Oct 2016
It's crazy
How I'd follow you across the world
And wouldn't even think twice...
Diána Bósa Oct 2016
This heart of mine is
a wanderer nomad and
now it is on the

loose. It became wroth
and restless for the mind is
bowed down; the shameful

armistice is now
signed. Because it is still
aware that if it

gave upon on you,
if it ceased to love, it would
cease to beat eternally.
God, I
Can be watching over me,
But I want to watch you,
You hide behind the clouds,
I can't see you,
I can't find you,
Perplexed, I wander off so far,
That I can't see my own self,
That I can't find my own self,
Can you be watching over me.
I feel so bitter



I still haven't found my home.
maudy Sep 2016
which is nicer,
love.
to be sober with them long bumpless road
for decades worth a thousand solar eclipses.
or ,
to be drunk with your thirsty blood
for seconds worth a thousand teardrops.

9/16/16
Alyaan Tariq Jun 2016
In the dark of what I feel
Would anyone care enough
To decipher it all for me
Troubled by this confusion and
These unanswered questions
That always haunted me
Everything around me is perfect
While I am the only one drowning

In the wake of my sanity
Looking for answers, I wander
Pushing myself in the deep cold of night
There is something buried inside
That keeps my hope alive
Stuck in the middle this hide and seek
Where these unknown emotions
Seem to be hidden forever

In the light of what is hidden
As I watch the smiles around me
I watch myself getting insaner
Sometimes I envy their grins
But then that makes me wonder
What if they too wear a mask
And behind those fake smiles is
Everything they cannot bear

Perhaps in this life, a mess
Being a pretender is the best.
Joy May 2016
her body rusting -
yes, they call me vagabond -
prisoned to wander.
May, 2016
Nomad ,
a wanderer ,
never remaining static .

One at home
with their environment .

At peace with their creator .
Probably made
from shooting stars .
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