I spat on my fingers and crossed them for luck,
Not that I would need it.
I guess it's just an old habit really...

I'm sick of them, they always
Make fun of me
They don't love me,
They just laugh, when I try to be serious.
But this is no laughing matter

It's not like they'll miss me,
They're probably glad to see the back of me.
They're probably laughing now,
Watching from the window
as I stuff my things in a bag.
Well we'll see who's laughing in the end.
I zip my bag up with cold determination.

But where will I go?
To a friend's house?
No, their parents will worry.
I guess I could stay in the park,
But it smells, and there's pigeons
And a policeman patrolling.
I glance back at the house,
One light still on- it flickers and dies.
No one to see me off. Good.

In the distance, a dog barks
And the wind howls in reply.
It's a cloudy night, the moon is
Hiding her face, pretending not to see.
Shrouded in haughty distain.

I've packed my bags, I'm leaving for good
Leaving home
Never coming back- and I mean it this time.
Well, I think I mean it.
I don't know
am I really leaving?
I guess it's just an old habit really...

Well, depressing ones are easier to write (for some reason... pessimism is easy)
So a happy one might be a long while coming...
Just trying to justify my actions here
Holly x