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Feb 2018
I only know it as a prison,
even if I should not.
It’s cold inside this prison,
the one I call my head.
The warden strolls past the cells,
her smirk as sharp as knives
as she’s only here to punish.
I’ve been locked up
as long as memory itself,
so long that I’ve forgotten
who I was before a prisoner.
I hear the warden snicker
as she walks by.
Sometimes I day dream
about escaping this hell,
and finding the light
I so bitterly crave.
I dream about plotting my revenge,
About striking down the sorrow
and her leaving behind,
locked up and helpless,
and warden of nothing at all.
Mitch Prax
Written by
Mitch Prax  32/M/Australia
(32/M/Australia)   
  419
       Marco Benitez, Marrisa, ---, ---, --- and 3 others
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