The clock is ticking
and chimes loudly,
the sound echoes through the walls.
Thoughts are racing
and move swiftly,
through the mind and halls.

The day is approaching

Feet are running
and losing speed quickly,
harsh breaths fill the air with shock.
Wheels are turning
in the head so rapidly,
a door makes a sound due to a loud knock.

The day is approaching

Eyes are closing
and the body is trying desperately,
to control the apprehension that it feels.
Fights are increasing
morals decrease dramatically,
and even a good person steals.

The day is approaching

Emotions are battling
and the war had begun so quickly,
that the group did not know their cause.
Lies are encompassing
and people sit securely,
as if it'll all be over when there's an applause.

The day is approaching

We are losing
and no longer carefully,
choose the paths that have been taken before.
A fight worth fighting
and charging into battle skillfully,
is still something we can't just ignore.

The day is approaching

Place the flowers with meaning
and just stand and reminisce calmly,
try not to remember why they are in that grave.
A partner in crime dying
and their friend screaming crazily,
because it was the one life that they couldn't save.

The day is approaching

Just keep constantly trying
and one day they'll go there soothingly,
to seek the comfort and advice of someone they knew.
That friend will still be crying
and letting go of them will never go easily,
no one ever knew that they were due.

The day is approaching

Come out of hiding
time is moving so slowly,
there is nothing to truly fear.
See the world is moving
everything happens so vividly,
your mind is the only reason that you're stuck here.

The day is approaching

The clock is ticking
and chimes loudly,
the sound echoes through the walls.
Thoughts are racing
and move swiftly,
through the mind and halls

Just don't leave until the day comes
and this all ends

Staring out the window,
at the deep snow so white,
I feel pulled to the snow,
and the woods that are not bright.

I exit through the door,
and slam it behind me.
That statement shook the floor,
i'll go where no one will be.

My fingers are numbing,
as I trudge through the snow.
Beneath my black hood, my head is throbbing,
I'm not sure where to go.

Snowflakes falling,
slowing my steps.
Can I make it without failing?
I have to get what I once kept.

Moving away from the warm house,
back to the darkening woods.
As small as a mouse,
I feel, and hide under my hood

Long black hooded cloak,
to blend into the background.
Vanishing like smoke,
I am not bound.

Hood falling over my eyes,
but yet I can still see.
This is not my demise,
don't worry, it can't be.

I am the main character,
that has now reached the edge.
That wooded area is darker,
but it's better than looking out over the window ledge.

Now I enter the black,
I am swallowed by the shadows.
Fear is what I lack,
i'm not watching life through the windows.

"Welcome Home."
...
Now just imagine what those words could mean.
Can you picture yourself as a returning war Veteran,
stepping into your house that you haven't seen in years.
Picture it.
The overwhelming sense of home
makes you want to break down and cry
cause you knew you missed home,
but once you got there you realized just how much you missed it.
...
Now picture this instead.
You're a runaway teenager
about 17 years old.
Could you imagine that you were gone for a year.
You left because you felt misunderstood,
and throughout your travels
you realized just how much you needed your home,
because there was nothing wrong with it in the first place.
Sitting on your front steps crying
not being able to knock on the door
not thinking you'll be welcomed
and then your parents open the door
and all they say is
"Welcome Home"
...
Can you feel the emotions behind those words,
and not just the speaker's emotions,
but who is being spoken too.
Could you think of their story?
If they were wearing a nice suit,
and taking a long deep breath.
Would you think that person has been distant for some time due to their job,
and is trying to make up for it?
Or, if it was a teenager whose clothes were in tatters
and they seemed to be in bad shape
just sitting on the steps crying.
Could you imagine his story?
Would you think about him being a runaway,
and not thinking he would be accepted home again.
Now imagine that,
the pain of being shut out of your home,
how you could be so close,
or you could live in a house,
and it's just not a home.
What makes a home a home anyways?
...
What makes a home,
are the people who will always say
"Welcome home,"
no matter how long you were away,
no matter what you have done.
...
*Welcome Home.

You're moving ,
mocking my very existence.
The lights are your tools
to blind me.
And it's working.

But I will not bow,
this is not my final exit.
The battle has just begun,
and you, my reflection, can not hurt me,
I dare you to bow.

This ****** mirrored room is my mind.
But you can not be me.
...
*I'm the only me there is.

Suffocation,
hands gripped tight around a convulsing throat.
Body twitching, trying to free itself,
air flow stopping.

"Listen to me..."

Pale white hands,
forced away the ones on the throat.
Fists pounded into the stomach,
and rattled against the skull.

"Don't leave me..."

Bodies hitting the floor,
with weightless thumps.
Two gleaming knives,
stuck in two different backs.

"I did it..."

Darkness filled the room,
a dark cloaked figure floated in.
The figured bowed its head,
death himself was forcing tears back.

"To protect you..."

Footsteps echoed in the metal halls,
a mournful cry.
By a devastated boy,
crouched before the man.

"My son... understand..."

Hushed conversation,
between the two.
A story to be finished,
a story to be told.

"This was no accident..."

The body on the floor,
said one more thing too hushed, too melancholy to hear.
One last faint breath,
sorrowful death swooped in and took him away.

*"My son, this was all meant to be..."