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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 ...

Tis Nothing

Nothing perhaps is wrong..
Nothing perhaps gets exceedingly long.
Nothing perhaps can be so strong..
That it cannot see how vehemently..
It gave in to the one who didn’t ever belong.
Nothing perhaps is left out..
Nothing perhaps is misfortune..
Nothing perhaps can seep in free of doubt.
That it finally seems to be peeling off..
Like the dried out skin..
Gorging out like the blatant drum roll over tin.
Nothing perhaps was there..
Nothing perhaps will spare..
Nothing perhaps will even lend a stare..
Nothing perhaps that one last word..
That has pulled back from getting overboard.
Realizing being allured is not freedom.

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