Really? You opened it? Well this is just poems, I dunno if you'd care...

Outcast
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Infected by the disease
Alone and scared
Empty and silent
Outcast

Dark and dreary
The outcast life
Still full of despair and sorrow
Outcast

Terrifying living
separated from others
This is my life as a
Outcast
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Home?

Home at last.
dark and dreary.
The streets are empty,
and bloody.

This is not my home,
cold and careless.
This is lifeless
and lonely.

This place was full of fights
and hatred, just the same.
This is not a place of sanity,
full of pain and suffering.

Different and delusional
I call myself here
I have a hallucination of my friends,
but still my mood boosts.

They aren't how they seem
moody and depressed,
quiet, careful, then gone
What has happened to my home?

No one is here,
just me.
The fighting killed them off,
just as it seems.

We people
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the hands of authors,
we are characters.
In he hands of illustrators,
we are imperfections to be fixed.
We people

Controlled by rulers,
modeled by peers,
"perfect" behavior by elders
never ourselves
We people

We people
need creativity
need reality
need freedom
need to be ourselves

There is no author
no illustrator
We are real
and free!
We do our will
not theirs
You write your own story