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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 ...

Gestures

A smile..
A wink.
A touch..
A stink.
Trouble fumble..
Gibberish mumble.
A sudden ordeal..
An instant departure.
Hold getting cold..
Expressions sold.
Emotions foretold.
A sigh..
A cry.
A last resort..
A try.
Muffled unrest..
Searching for a nest.
Whispering pain..
Whimpering stain.
A heavy tone..
A loud groan.
Fitting in words..
Trickling down tears.
A fear..
A cheer.
A shoulder..
Right here.
A bow down..
As knelt.
A loss..
A score.
Desire to endure..
Temptations lure.
Hearts fallen apart..
Eyes still pure.
Little gestures..
That cure.

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