this thing we call life

I wish I could fall asleep.
Just the thought of dreaming,
Puts a smile on my face.
My way of escaping.

This place we live in,
If living is what you call it,
Is no better than a psychopaths’ dream.
Not one bit.

But my dreams are perfect,
Though not a utopia.
The perfect mix of good and bad,
Still not a dystopia.

When I awake,
I end up back in this place.
My mind still on a constant run,
Just at a much slower pace.

I feel like no matter where I am,
I can never stop going.
But the emotion of broken,
I never feel like showing.

The people here,
They will break you into pieces.
No physical changes,
But your hearts feelings seizes.

We al walk around,
Empty corpses with no soul.
Then you realize,
The earth has taken its toll.





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