Graffiti

The homeless roam the streets, to the alleyways where the graffiti speaks,

but is not heard,

written by the vandals who sneak away at night while their parents sleep,

the vandals fingertips burn for a chance to flow,

the memories,

images they keep repeating in his mind, the only remedy to keep him in line from the poison,

in the streets there's no noise, 

no loud voices,

the darkness is silent, drinking the enjoyment of bliss,

nobody's over him pressuring the choices he does not wish to follow,

those words are an annoyance, doing everything he can to avoid it until tomorrow,

he says can i borrow that bottle of liquor?

chugs every last bit, now he stares at the empty space, sweats all down his collar,

i guess this is his only escape, so he turns up the volume on his thoughts,

to flee from the arguments his parents always seem to get in to,

so he gets into his brain, gets lost in the wonderland that is not reality,

away from the pain,

forced to find his way to sanity,

because i guess that's just the way things have to be,

i guess those ugly looks were for a reason, maybe its a sign that he shouldn't be breathing,

judged for the way he chooses to express himself, you don't know what these people do,

so cruel they start teasing, so his mind starts believing what these fools be talkin',

he keeps a glock hidden up inside his pocket, why ,is all he can say,

corrupted mind twisted into lies, the end kisses his forehead as he pulls the trigger,

the blood he can already taste is bitter but sweet,

and finally,

finally his mind can breath.

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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