Seasoned

This town is starving. It eats people up and leaves no trace. Few are the ones who escape this place. Many are blinded by the simplicity and have yet to realize that this town is a black hole. It swallows up futures. It swallows up lives.
Those who notice that this place isn’t as peachy as it appears are set in a determined state of mind. They don’t fool themselves by believing in roots. They don’t anchor themselves in regression, they climb out against it. Somehow they see the dim hope that lights the distant future.
I’m not quite sure if I will ever escape. My mind is free to roam, but my feet are sewn to the ground. My type is this town’s favorite meal. My promising future creates the perfect flavor. It will keep me here forever if I let it. But I don’t know if my drive is strong enough to rip the seams. I don’t know if my future is bright enough to light my way. But if I don’t try, I will never know my fate.
This town is starving. It eats those left unaware, those who turn their backs, those who don’t care, those who drink their meals, those who sell their mother for drugs- it eats them up. It leaves no trace of future. It leaves no trace of life.