April 18


If fog and wind can fly away
Why can't I be the same as them?
I don't want to stay.

I want the wind to reap through my chest
And turn me into nothing more than nothing
Because I'm hanging from a really thin string,
I'm about to kick the stool and leave the nest

And I'm tired of friends, the sun and deadends
We might as well call this room by hell
Because I can't stop the tears, and I won't try
It isn't worth to become a ghost because a ghost can also cry.
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