There are people living in

There are people living in this city 

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 
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.
This poem is about: 
Our world


Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741