that walk with stiff, thick bricks on their feet

longing for some phoenix's wings to be taken

to the far brighter side of the sea.

 

There are people exposed to the gunshots 

one

and then two

and bam

opened wide arms , exposed to the wounds

walking gently, carelessly alongside my garden

picking up poisonous flower blooms.

 

There are people who fall off in pieces,

breaking calmly,

caressing their scars with salt hands,

as if pain was a welcoming ghost

filled with bruises in colorful shades

dying slowly without giving note.

 

There are people believe me I've seen them walking by

without a soul , they look tired and lonesome

like they just mean to survive

calling home at the end of the journey

but not having real meaning of life.

 

 There are people collecting mistakes

screaming in the tiniest voices

just unable to hear the right way

climbing walls of endless excuses

failing to fly

and failing to reach to the top

falling deeply into nightmares of pride.

 

There are people so dark and so lonely

their steps can write novels at once

those stories that push to your demons

and become a very dear embrace

those are the people in need

those are the ones that need help,

those are the people we all have inside

and that comes out once in a day.