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Eye of the Needle
I sit quietly within my glass prison
surrounded by invisible walls.
I watch my reflection upon the white
mime faces who constantly build those
walls around me.
They are my judges standing tribunal,
within the vacant eyes I see only myself
and all that I am made of looking back at me.
I wonder if I am wrong,
as I teeter on the edge,
I feel blackness rolling in
and creep over me.
How long I have fought to keep it out,
but forever they, the wordless ones
weave my shackles,
burning the back of my skull is their mockery.
I will not let myself be restrained
I will not be transformed
into one of those inanimate dolls,
slave to the strings of their emotions.
I could cry out, but who would listen.
Just as rigid as the guards of Buckingham Palace,
I created this for myself, but now I need an escape.
The pins and needles remind me
of the mistakes I always seem to make.
They will not released me
until I find the key
to turn them all to ash.
5:05 PM - 9/8/2006 -
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