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Thomas Newlove Feb 2011
Lights
Bright, white beams stinging
The absorbers of light,
Scorching memories, piercing the soul.
Their power causes your eyes to droop,
And you dream that home surrounds
Your cold, blinded body.
Chair
Who would have thought
That grime was comforting?
For between chewing gum and sticky wall
Lies a body of endless exhaustion.
As if this soulless chair
Were the comforting clouds of heaven.
Doors**
I finally depart this grisly place-
The Nightlink only brings one form of life,
Eyes reading me,
Underlining my valuable features.
This place is rough's definition.
I head to my safe haven,
The grimy doors transform into the gates of heaven.
The cold air blasts my tired eyes as I depart.
I am home.

— The End —