The Green Grass

Do you remember what it was like being young?
When you were flung

So far away from the horror of real life?
I do.
I remember the bells ringing at the beginning of school
And never questioning the teachers or established rules
I remember having packed lunch
And stepping out of my way in autumn,

to find a particular leaf that crunched
Underfoot as I walked along the pavement
Avoiding the cracks,

whilst scanning the front and backs
Of pokemon cards to see which ones I could trade.
You see, somewhere along the line I was made
I was made into what I am
Carefully moulded by a society that doesn’t give a-

Shit.
Sorry. That’s not it.
Is it?
You told me to tell you
Something that I want.
Something that I yearn for?
Well.
I want to travel overseas
I want a honeymoon in Hawaii

I want wars to cease
I want to end poverty in third world countries
I want the end of all pain
I want a new world, or perhaps
For the old one to start again
Without the greed and endless search
For personal gain and security
And systems that hurt those they’re meant to protect
And a media that hides what happened next.

But.
More than anything,
I want the fog that blinds my mind to lift
And sift, and crumble and break
like sediments at the bottom of the sea.
The fog has taken the key and locked me

In a cage since the age of three.
And no amount of artificiality or chats
Or puppies or cats, or drugs or hugs or words
Can ever lift this fog, this steam, this blanket that smothers me.
Not even this video. Especially not this video.
Dr Francis, you’re wrong.

Because no matter how much I fight, the mist will win.
For once I’m right;

I am not strong.
This fog encircles my head like a kettle
of vultures.
And it refuses to settle.
So Doctor Francis
That’s something I want.
And something I will never, ever have.

My minute’s up.

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