I do not own No.6 or any of its characters. The poem is by Abdul Wahab. Normal is Nezumi, italic is Shion

When the burden of life is too much

I was running, running away. Away from the life I was forced into. All I can hear are my feet hitting the wet ground of the tunnel and the footsteps behind me coming closer and closer. At last, light appeared, I was free. Bars. Bars kept me from running. I pushed as hard as I could but it didn't give. I could hear the footsteps again coming closer and closer. I was so close.

as the rain to the cloud

I stare out the window and see the storm come closer I begin to smile. I wish I could be like that cloud; wild and free. Allowed to go where you want with the wind caressing your every movement. To belong to no one and be nothing but whom you are.

and you are so tuckered out that you can't bear

I rest against the pillar regaining my breath. My arm bleeds out beside me but at least I'm alive. I hear sirens start to sound and know I must move. I need to rest but I need to be free.

anymore the weight and pressure

But I can't. I get dragged to the present and harsh reality. I'm shackled to this world with technology and obligations with no way out stuck in a world of teasing and praise. The storm still remains: the lasting presence of my dreams yet to fade away.

your legs are dead you feel burned out

The rain hit my face as I ran again. I was out of that tunnel and into the streets. They didn't notice me or care. I push past people wishing I could be somewhere else. I won't be able to last long I'm slowing down and my arm feels numb. I turn to gaze at the house in front of me. I'm going to die.

and out of coldness you condense and freeze

I walk home with her beside me but I feel alone. Why don't people see what is really happening? The loving city has no despair is fake. That there is sadness and pain all around just brushed out of sight and hidden beneath false praises of the city from those who do remember.

though you try hard to conceal but the wind knows all and tells.

I open my window and cry out for all those deceived by the great city. I cry out for the pressure a twelve year old boy is placed under. My screams hidden by the roar of the wind and the crash of lightening but just like before my escape can never last and I come back to the present by the beeping of the door.

I see the door flung open and a boy appear. His anger and frustration sparks my interest. Why does a boy who lives in this constructed paradise feel like this? I must get closer

I turn around and shut the door but there he is. His silver eyes shining in the dark.