Poetry.

2

We're always on the run
Carrying a loaded gun
Did we have enough money?
We didn't seem to care
Had a couple of scars here and there
Bright red it matches my hair
We're the kids whom society left behind
Though we were innocent and kind
They told us "it's not your mistake"
But we won't let you have your out break
Do I look high?
I want to spread my wings and fly
Living in a stinky old flat
"Do you like my black cat?"
Starring at the ceiling
Trying to stop the weird scary feeling
Creating scenes in my mind
Overthinking, dreaming with no guide
Been told I've got special eyes with a blaze
Looked out of the window which is covered with haze
This life wasn't meant for me
Can you hear me
I'll keep screaming until I get noticed
That this is not the way I deserve to live