slam poetry: this worn down town

you are the prison and i'm fighting to get out of this hell hole you threw me into but alas; with no success. here i am, gasping for air and scratching my already worn down nails on this already worn down town which smells of despair and desperation. the dream has left, and with it have the souls of so many people. the shells of people cannot be rebuilt. nor can they be brought to life again. a touch and they shatter, a touch and they're gone, a touch and nothing to show of them but a gravestone.