20something n going no where

Wishes of the young always take flight
Through a cloudless sky, ample and bright
But age and living will cloud the mind
The quest for more, which we’ll never find
Like when the day is no longer young
Advertisement billboards block the sun
And the scene is set, artificial night
Where no wind can give our wishes flight

I have a massive and slightly obsessive urge. I want this so bad it hurts and my stomach feels indecisive...heavy, yet hollow and empty. I want to leave the house, through the front door, wearing my dressing gown with the hood up. I want to walk through the dark streets in my area, casting shadows when I pass a street light. I want to be introverted, in a trance, almost to a point where it would seem like a challenge to be dragged back to the harshness of reality. I want to do this, placing one foot in front of the other in a robotic, monotonous motion whilst I let my feelings swarm over me, cloud my eyes and sink my lips. I want passers by to mumble quietly to their companions that I 'don’t look so good'. I want to shuffle away to a place where I spent joyful younger years. I want to get in the middle of my chosen place, let the memories wash over me and shudder with violent spasms of nostalgia. I want to feel all the uncertainty and indecisiveness climbing up towards the surface. I want to feel it, like a lump rising, gathering pace, growing like a snowball rolling, making my face twitch. I want to release it with every fibre of my being. Oh, sweet cathartic joy! I want it to tear my throat and make my voice hoarse. I want it to burst blood vessels as I throw it forward with every furious ounce of energy I have. I want to scream so loud with anguish that my younger self hears the warning and the dread of uncertainty in the air. I want my piercing howl to raise the, fair hairs on the back of his young neck. I want to do this until I am down on my knees, crying with the effort. I don’t want to be frowned upon, or thought mad, for doing this. I don't want to be sectioned and drugged until all of the surrounding grey concrete and cold blue steel becomes acceptable again. It isn't right. I vaguely remember colours, smells and elements. I think I remember misty winter mornings, the gentle crunch of frost under boot as I run to school, skidding in the patches of ice. I distantly remember lush, green spring mornings, where the dew from the vibrant grass would seep into my shoe, pass swiftly through my sock and soak my foot. The scent of a heavy shower looming nearer and daffodils and daisy's all around. This was life, there was colour. I want to scream until my guts flow out of my mouth and I spew bodily paint over the concrete and cold steel. My prison is my canvas. This whole city is my prison. Penned in by greys and blues. A man-made, overcast, grey sky. The elite do this because the sun causes irrational emotion, they want our senses to be neutralised. If the environment surrounding us fails to do this they bring the drugs. They come at night. Cloaked in black, needles drawn. Injecting grey fluid into our red bloodstream. No colour is allowed anywhere! But I harbour a secret; I cling to it at all hours of the meaningless day and lay awake in the night nurturing it. The drugs are becoming less effective. Each time I am drugged its effects are leaving me quicker and quicker. The greys and blues are cracking...but so am I. It's a race against time. I have to find a way out before I am taken. That’s what it’s called people 'disappear', which is something they do when they show too much emotion. I'm on a knife edge. I want to scream, but I must remain silent. I yearn to rip down the grey structures and tear through the blue steel, but I must remain dormant. A sleeping volcano waiting to scream. I will erupt, I will spill red liquid over this city and I will dance in the lifeblood spilt.

It was inevitable that it would end up this way. When the economy crashed our way of life crashed with it. Jobs became an immense rarity and people would do anything to get one. The way mantis babies will eat each other if food supply is low. When people realised that there wasn’t enough jobs the riots started. They were small at first, but eventually thousands of people would be involved in each riot. Then came the white horseman of the apocalypse…disease. He rode in on his demonic steed leaving a deadly trail of influenza that there were no vaccines for. Millions of people were dead and dying, and then it happened…the truth came out. An insider who was working for the banking cartel admitted to helping engineer the influenza. It was grown in labs, by men in white coats…the white horseman. They infected as many as they possibly could. Our water supply was riddled with the disease, airplanes dropped it onto cities from above, it was released through air conditioning and the worst, most hideous crime of all…it was sold to the public in the belief that it was a vaccine. People had to pay to receive what they thought was there salvation, it turned out that they were been injected with the disease. All of this was done behind the governments back and when they tried to stop it its own armies turned on them. In every country in the world the governments and monarchies were killed off. It was the world banks who paid the soldiers….and like everything else in the old days, money talked. Those that survived tried to fight, but the soldiers dressed in black were superior, both in tactics and in technologies. People were rounded up in the middle of the night, put on buses, transferred to trains and then moved to ‘camps’. We, the survivors, remained in these camps for years, only being let out when it was our time to work. The work we did was to help build the bankers new worlds for them. The grey/blue cities we were stuck in. We were forced to build our own prisons. No one knew who the bankers were, where lived, what they looked like…anything. They weren’t the vain leaders of political parties and monarchs that people were used to. They stayed in the shadows, they spoke to us through speaker systems and their word was law. People tried to fight back, to escape, some people tried to look for shreds of humanity in the soldiers, this was futile…status steals peoples souls more so than money. The soldiers drank in their power and quenched their parched throats. For too long the public had hated soldiers for fighting unjust wars, this was their revenge. Those who fought died. Their screams were our bible and our religion was acceptance.

I have a massive and slightly obssessive urge. I want this so bad it hurts and my stomach feels indecisive...heavy, yet hollow and empty. I want to leave the house, through the front door, wearing my dressing gown with the hood up. I want to walk through the dark streets in my area, casting shadows when i pass a street light. I want to be introverted, in a trance, almost to a point where it would seem like a challenge to be dragged back to the harshness of reality. I want to do this, placing one foot in front of the other in a robotic, monotonous motion whilst i let my feelings swarm over me, cloud my eyes and sink my lips. I want passers by to mumble quietly to their companions that i 'dont look so good'. I want to shuffle away to a place where i spent joyful youngers years. I want to get in the middle of my chosen place, let the memories wash over me and shudder with violent spasms of nostalgia. I want to feel all the uncertainty and indecisiveness climbing up towards the surface. I want to feel it, like a lump rising, gathering pace, growing like a snowball rolling, making my face twitch. I want to release it with every fibre of my being, cathartic joy! I want it to tear my throat and make my voice hoarse. I want it to burst blood vessels as i throw it forward with every furious ounce of energy i have. I want to scream so loud with anguish that my younger self hears the warning and the dread of uncertainty in the air. I want to do this until i am down on my knees, crying with the effort. I dont want to be frowned upon, or thought mad, for doing this.

This first year of uni has flown by! It feels strange packing up my room, lots of souveniers from an action packed and emotional first year! An amazing year to be honest, feels sad to be leaving my room. Especially knowing that someone else will be enjoying it next year, i will have to come back and see who the new person is

Sick with nostalgia I vomit the past
Sifting through memories I desire to last
But sensing freedom they flee in the night
on the wings of moths they seek out the light
spreading like locusts as moses foretold
they block out my sun and leave my life cold
As i scurry away, under a rock
a new face moves in, where i horded my stock.