Leaving my massacred city/ trying to escape

In the wider sense of things, every town is a big town.
My beloved city of vicious gunfights and brilliant poppy!
I will not forget of the days you nursed me to life
with water dripping from your festering wounds
You were once a city that rose from a field of dream, morning after morning,
Now you lay massacred in my arms.
Your drunken walls are falling over the bullet riddled streets
Every rundown street leads to the edge of some blown up field
And graphics of spilled blood left uncleaned for lasting effects.
So much bloodshed in the street, every time the traffic light turns red
I run for cover to hide my unknown face behind a wall of glass.

Be not angry with me, my maternal city, born of the rays of morning star.
I got to lay you down some place and I got to get me out o’here to some place,
Way beyond that untouchable space, if possible.
All I got is a bagful of cheap tricks learned in your whore houses
But not much education.
They take me so far, so far as the end of the street and not much beyond.
“Why walk when you can fly” is what others say. Too bad, I cannot fly!
I was born a fish with a pair of fins that for a while won’t be becoming wings .
Days of my life are numbered, although I do not know how many there are.
I believe Death will come soon knocking at my window.
I got to think up something before it is too late to worry about.
But when you got no education and the brain has no regulations,
It always dreams what it wants to dream.
And it often dreams of spilled blood in a blown up field of poppy.
And soon, I too start to bloom like a poppy without petals
at the bottom of a ditch which was once a city.

I like a bit of drama but this is much more than I can handle.
Time goes by and no amount of drama can stop it.
I am thinking of long and dry summer landscape
filled with stones in the dust
Wondering how not to find myself
at the foot of a busted rainbow.