Hello tommorow, goodbye today.

When all is lost, and nothing is gained. Your pride's a mess and your future's as clear as the mistake you made in the first place. There's always times when the next train to London is far more tempting than your bed. The world you've been brought up in has stopped expanding and you begin to see the boundaries of your own existence. The question is, 'there must be something more to life'.

This town brings back memories. It's skin deep. The people offer nothing but swear words and the shops offer nothing but recycled sales goods. The streets of your youth have since been replaced by the new kids, the ones who knife you and threaten to beat your Mum up if you so much as look at them. The old friends you once loved to see - you now love to ignore.

The home you once ran around, you now tip-toe around. The photos of strangers sit on the mantlepiece with a layer of dust coating it, year by year. The wrinkles gravity eventually set in and the teal coloured hair you comb over like the problems you swept under the rug. They're ageing infront of you, and the people who chased after you, now fall asleep infront of you. They eat too much, they work too hard, they exercise too little. Their intelligence is admirable, but their consideration is weak. They can't see the future you see in them everyday.

You hide away and you listen to the music you once listened to with younger ears, and you realise everything's changed. There is no youth in this house, there's no chances to be obtained in this town. There's nothing and it's all your fault. The train to London has now gone and you're sitting there bone-idle, left to stare at the empty faces sitting opposite you, wanting to go the completely different direction to you.

They're ringing you, urging you to come home, they don't know where you are. You know you should come home. But it'd only be to the sofa's and the television, where you're muted when the soap opera comes back on. They stopped hearing you a long time. And the gap is increasing. This house you used to run around, now seems desolate and empty. There's nothing to it anymore.

There's new places, with new faces. Where nothing is lost and all is gained. Where the amusement melodies no longer reach me and the stabbing you heard about, is nothing but a mere story. It's a form of escape and a type of denial. But a mistake made too many times in the past now to be corrected.

Monotony is not for me.

This town, is not for me. The boundaries are shrinking, the line that you 'do not cross' is now nearer, and the 10.50 is drawing up on Platform 3. I pick up my suitcase, no sentiment just recycled clothes I picked up from the highstreet. I can't turn back, because my bed's for 'visitors who come to stay'. They stopped ringing when I stopped growing. I just prophesied what will happen to him and i couldn't stay to pick up the pieces. The train doors, now shut behind me and Memory Lane along the station is blurring infront of me. This is not for me anymore. To tip-toe around the house, or to even thunder around the house and not be heard, to act immature and receive no discipline, to receive no response at all now...they're not here anymore, and i have to go.