Sooner or later you realize that no one can save you
there are nothing but empty promises
from broken homes
and broken people.
So you walk around
with music turned up so loud that
you can’t hear yourself think.
Thinking is detrimental
it allows remorse
and anxiety
and the ceaseless plethora of maybes
to poison your mind
with the possibility of escape.
It seems to me that
the ones who tell you to run
are the ones who have never been trapped
who have never realized
that in some walks of life
home can be another four letter word for hell
where threats of violence are sharp exhales
from decaying lungs.
In this place
the air is polluted