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Dec 2012
The blinding lights
form spots when I blink.

They're always with me.

I need to break out from these white-washed walls
and polished floors.

Let me feel grass under my feet,
and the heat of the sun.

See the soft light of the evening
and the slow-rushing waters.

But no...
They will never let me out of this straight jacket.
How did Houdini get out of it?
Alice Kay
Written by
Alice Kay  Imagination
(Imagination)   
339
   --- and Timothy
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