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Oct 2014
Hear the warden mumble,
Oh, count his every steps.
Hide away your treasures,
and clean away the mess.

Metal hinges an omen,
their shriek means nothing good.
Hold of your breath and heartbeat
as the corpse does in the woods.

Glue your teeth together
Oh, put your fears aside.
Jump into the bunk bed,
convinced it's only lies.

Catch a drop of moisture,
Running down your cheek.
The ceiling upstairs is leaking,
just as it has been for weeks.

Focus on the thunder,
Oh, count each brutal ray.
Notice the cladded boot-heels
Get closer every day.

Dream of that cruel sentence,
the one that wakes up to ****.
Imagine feeling empty,
your mind completely still.

Reopen the old memories,
the ones you thought you'd lost.
Kiss those vague companions,
which's faces you've forgot.

Calm those inner voices,
Oh, believe there's no despair.
Yet smell a fire burning,
Under the gibbet's stairs.
Trapped.
Henry Brooke
Written by
Henry Brooke  Paris
(Paris)   
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