We understand, we don't, we hate, we love, we feel.
To pressure and authority; to kneel or not to kneel.

A way in, a way out.
There is always a route.

Hurtful words are worse than actions.
You do not care for my feeble reactions.

Stop it, I'd like to discontinue feeling such pain.
Let me just relax for a second under the rain.

But this is the last time, walls shudder and finally crash.
It couldn't be forever, this monster mash.

I leave and never will I return.
Will I take a better turn?

It's a bad day, a good day, a hodgepodge of I don't even know.

Writing poetry takes a half an hour at the most, especially when I'm feeling low.

An exit for the emotions, I suppose, all up for show.

It made sense at the time of writing, but now, not so much, even though it was written by me.

-- Ai_Dami