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Lena Bitare Nov 2018
They told me to come to my senses;
When they don't know where I came from;
They didn't know the road I took
The mishaps, the roadblocks I endured;
The bruises I got;
The sunshine I tried so hard to produce;
The pain I endured;
The touch of gold
I had to give myself;
They didn't know how awoke I was;
As I dream with my eyes wide open;
And chill with flames;
I watch every paper burn;
Every feeling stained;
I burn every bridge I cross;
In my head;
Since I was a kid;
I was told
That I would die
If I don't hold the end of a rope.
A dreamer was told to wake up; This is her answer.

— The End —