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Sep 2018
I'm imprisoned
     Behind this static
          Screeching,
Echoing its sick
Reverberations inside my head
     But disguising itself
     As muck
Both in the expulsion
     Of my tongue
And the frantic scripture
     Of my pen working fruitlessly.
III
Written by
III  Chicago
(Chicago)   
  619
     ---, Fawn, Rick and Molly
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