They say the grass is greener on the other side,

But that’s for them,

The grass is brown on either side for me,

Dying, withering, until there is no more,

Like my life in this city,

This city of pain, and suffering,

Which I cannot seem to escape from.

I want to run to the coasts of the country,

To explore the rest of the world,

I have dreams, aspirations,

But those wither until there is no more.

I scream, I shout,

Nothing changes,

I am hopeless, helpless in all these cases,

Fingers point and prick at me,

Like I am nothing but dirt under their feet.

They can’t see,

That these things they do get at me,

They won’t change, they can’t change,

So I have to leave.

I have to get away from this horrible place,

If I stay there will be no me,

Just a body in the ground,

Decomposing under their feet.