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run
faster and faster
don't trip up
don't slow down
don't slip up

roots pop up
and weave through
dont catch your foot
or you will fall too

dont look back
it will only slow you down
dont give up
though your heart pounds hard
broken dreams
and ripping seams

a girl sits still
upon a sill

strings pulling hard
she moves not that far

shes controlled by her master
one that does not care

for her at all
cause a puppeteer

is always near
my heart beats fast
the concrete is cold
my legs feel like lead
the air is bitter
my head burns
the blood is hot
my feet are throbbing
the footsteps get closer
my shoulders are heavy
the roots stick out of the ground
my foot catches
the mud fills my mouth
my chest heaves
the footsteps stop next to me
my eyes squeeze shut
the breeze is calm
my hands push up
the sun sets slowly
my legs won't lift
the footsteps were a man
my shirt pulls around my neck
the man drags me to my feet
my feet slips from under
the man picks me up
my legs swing quick
the man grunts but he still hangs on
my head feels light
the man smiles sinisterly
my mind goes black
I stand in a room
With a glass window
I look straight out
And see a bright blue                                          bird

Its wings are ruffled
Its beak is broken
Its claws are raw
But still it sits                                                      on a

small brown wooden
piece of branch                                                    
That it may call
A cute little                                                    perch
Drip drip drop
Water leaks
From a low saging celling
Of old rotting wood
Drips onto the floor
Of light brown wood
With large dark knots
With warping and rotting
Long strands of bright green
Ivy crawls through
A window broken in
With yellowing shards
Sitting restlessly
On the floor
The hard sent of dust
Fills the air
Mixed with a slight musty tang
The room is huge
And though empty
It seems full with
all of the words
I could have said
jars are full
peaches and apples
smiles are seen
laughs of the children
then like a knife cutting through the wind
silence in the trees
not even a mouse scurries
the wolfs are hungry
the wolfs are angry
the wolfs will feast
on the children's  
bones and blood
the wolfs don't care about the summer
the one they planed
the wolfs care of only one thing
and that's there stomachs
that rumble hungrily
hey this will be my last poem till september but i promise that when i can i will write tones of poems on here hope you guys have a great summer love y'all for the support see you in september
pants on backwards
bedhead life
messy bun
pain in head
hangover naps
shirt inside out
everyone's been there
on the walk of shame
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