Belgium, Netherlands

My spirit is a disturbed wavelength of colors.
Every color signifies a specific emotion.
To me, all of them have been blurred together.
One amalgamation of distortion as a result.

People are like screeching crows;
hinting at misfortune, bringing disaster.
Blasphemy and controversy register, severely wounding me.
I shut my eyes to prevent the sight of wooden floors and white walls.

Escape is imperative.
Opportunity beckons, its scent alluring to make one crumble.
It presents itself as the main course of the evening.
My hand fumbles to grasp it, and I fall.

I am comforted with the sound of lonely raindrops,
and stand up only after I notice a pair of turquoise jewels.
The exit mocks me from afar,
and I shut my eyes to release my grip on reality.
The jewels disappear.

I wake up to azure skies and the pleas of freshly-cut grass.
I reminisce upon fazed whispers, secrets of furtive promises.
I straighten myself to find my blue-walled bedroom around me,
and realize I had never fallen.

I believe I am at peace now.

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This Poems Story

There was a girl who was sick of the country she was in. These are her thoughts.