Poem: Just

Where is the thing that makes you happy?

Do you even know what it means to be happy?

The wind blows yet it does not make a sound.

When I look up and see who is looking back it is not me.

It is not you, in fact I see us.

I see what we could be if we gave us water to grow.

We just never seem to be able to bloom.

The world of us is starting to crumble, and I do not think I can stop it.

I think it needs to fall.

The good has come and gone.

The bad has been the number one on the menu, at least for me.

This is not over, but it is done.

There is no going back now let us just run.

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