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A Prison Filled With Smoke

 I drew with a pencil that broke in the middle I drew with the shorter half that choked on the riddle I knew it was going to be harder to hide my fiddle I drew on top of a scar that had been ripped open too far I drew the stitches to cover the leakage in rage I made the lead to break I drew dark glasses to hide my eyes from lies that cover my face I drew empty classes where I teach freedom I knew no one would come and take the risk that it encompasses I drew the bucket  that has holes everywhere I drew the station that never sees a train only the pain of everything passing right through the empty tracks I drew a relation that is always in tension what should I say how should I pay what should I do not to stay I drew a blanket to cover my soul I drew a bullet to destroy the ghoul I knew someone will call me out I knew someone will shout I drew a chair where I can sit and think about being fair I drew a floor filled with gravity of good time smoke gathered around me suddenly, I ...

Broken Pieces

Broken pieces scattered all over..
As I start collecting some pierce through.
A red drop trickles..
As my skin chuckles.
But tears take precedence.
Not even once those pieces lie,
Everywhere they sit and cry.
Melancholy should be self explanatory.
I pick them up as they prick..
To indefinite souls they stick.
Weak as they have fallen,
Spoilt yet defensive.
Wet but not mourning,
Looking at each other..
They start holding up one another.
Stagger yet sober,
Shadows gather,
But couldn’t walk any further.
Sit through the night..
Untimely awoken.

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