Anarchy Poem by Cerulean Celyn

A future where teens top
The list of the fallen;
The goods are gone with our respect,
We are this, we are lawless.
Running to the 23rd floor
Trying to save our wanted heads,
But the elevator, it falls, without control;
And we are alive, with a hint of dead.
A future where pain lasts,
Behind the healed scars.
No, we're not okay now,
We really never are.
Running from the 23rd floor
The place our agony commenced;
Only to find it closing in,
Having dominion over all again.