I wrote this poem last year when I finally left home
This town is so outdated,
sad vibes, worn souls and brittle bones,
metorphorically, the spirit is cremated,
but it's only us that can change this,
We, the people who dimmed each others lights and fought each others fights,
The ones who once had aspiration, a drive for success
Now, the only time we see each other is at the job centre signing for a pay check
But what do we do for those?
Other than fake applying for jobs and sitting at home, stoned?
Stone faced, head in the sky,
Relying on the tax payers money to get high, and staying there red eyed
The eye of god, do you really think you're gonna pass the pearly gates of paradise when youre not contributing to the world?
Following whatever bad influence we have, clinging to them like parasites,
See it doesnt make sense to me, your reality,
If you can even justify calling it that word?
Piecing words together, rhyming them, painting a picture with my mind, telling a story - that alone is my clarity,
but some people find that absurd!
The ones who find peace through writing, are those who have the deepest stories apparently,
I can justify that, there's been times that I've questioned my own sanity, picked up a pen and paper and instantly realised it's my remedy,
My past stories were written on paper, but the ink has been spilled,
Now this is my chance to prove everybody wrong, my mental state is ready to rebuild,
Brick by brick, each one filled with memories of a different day,
I know that it's a bit early to say this - but im starting to think that everything is gonna be okay.