Haunted Apartments of the past.

Feeling different,
the greater good.
achieving freedom,
after bleeding blood.

whispering to injustice
The voices are unfair.
Invisible is,
the truth, like air.

Too Cold to sleep,
with fungus on breads,
feeling the spice
on crispy heads.

Like a little lie
and daunting fears.
Are those monsters
Who can't dry tears.

Of far distances,
and meaningless lines.
Are those underacting taste buds,
to red wines.

Freedom tastes symphony
that moves too fast.
Never live in the
haunted apartments of the past.