Lock and Key.

March 17, 2011
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It's under lock and key. It beats and beats, begging to be set free. Deep down in her prison of memories, where it screams and screams. With nowhere to run and no place to hide, where does it go? Where does she keep it all inside? Is it hiding in her mind, hiding in her eyes?

Searching for the object, she will protest. She will slap those hands away, there will be hell to pay. Still, you're searching and searching. Why is nothing emerging? She smirks and smirks, you're eating dirt. You only want it so you can punch and pound, ouch, kick it to the ground. But first you must find the object, set it off like a rocket.

The blood in your veins bursts into flames. Fire, fire. Who is the liar? Red, hot anger. Where's your power? Oh. You're burning down, is that a frown? Why so sad, why so mad! You're picking up the key, are you full of glee? Oh. The key does not fit, so you're not worth it. Fire, fire. You. Are. The. Liar.

Her heart's under lock and key. Step away. It doesn't want to be set free.

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