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Jan 2019
I crave the breeze brushing against my skin,
The rain gently dripping on my hair.
To run through the woods, full of life and nature.
Meet new people, and discover this fascinating Earth.
But instead you keep me trapped,
Claustrophobic in my room.
Never going beyond these walls,
Of pain, remorse and this pessimistic existence.
Which you call 'living'.
Buried Words
Written by
Buried Words  18/F/Ireland
(18/F/Ireland)   
124
   Fawn
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