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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 ...

Sit There Still

Sit there still..
While someone left abode.
Sit there still..
While there’s a subtle erode.
Sit there still..
While inner instances have slowed.
Sit there still..
As sometimes dark clouds fold the boldness inside.
As sometimes weaknesses hide the wrestle ride..
As sometimes being unknown overpowers the superficial glide.
Sit there still..
For now there will be no change for a while.
For now there will be no mockery in exile.
As now there will be just a colloquial hypothesis..
Along with traces of your wiped out foot steps.

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