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untitled

No sight of comfort,

Within these walls.

I'm seeing shapes,

I'm hearing calls.

I'm burning up,

It starts to spin.

This mission we're in,

Well nobody wins.

Soem call it insane,

Some call it switching lanes.

Your feet sink,

Become faint.

Give into the thought,

you are no saint.

Its not what you wanted

its not why you're here

perceptions of reality,

rooted in fear.

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j
Written by
jim
American
Published
May 31, 2010
Lines·Words
18·65
Permission

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