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Wanderlust Tragedy This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.

There lives a boy beyond the edge of fantasy
Who taps and whacks, sleeps and snores
Who shows all the symptoms of that
dreaming disease
But can't get cured like those before

They say he's infected with gleaming eyes
And possessed by the mercury of free spirit
Coughs up ideas and spits out ideals
Due to a mental wanderlust too vivid

Indoctrination proved too useless
And calculated injections benign
Nothing practically potent worked
And neither did the passage of time

They'd thought about a lethal cleansing
A desperate self-procured suicide
All to save this one single boy
Who lived so alone on the wrong side

The boy's hands were bound gradually
As life drained into black or white
His sapphire tears bled the blues
As his death was scheduled that night

Black was darker than usual
In his house of stale hue
They stood there dumbfounded
As red blood seeped right through

For the first time, they saw color
But for the eighth time, they saw blind
His parents still cried gray tears
For they had failed to change their mind

This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.




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TheDolphinThis teenager is a 'regular' and has contributed a lot of work, comments and/or forum posts, and has received many votes and high ratings over a long period of time. This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Jul. 18 at 12:04 am:
"Black was darker than usual"................................This is so amazing playing simple words!
 
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the-unrehearsedThis teenager is a 'regular' and has contributed a lot of work, comments and/or forum posts, and has received many votes and high ratings over a long period of time. This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Jul. 17 at 11:04 pm:
"...possessed by the mercury of free spirit." My experience closely parallels yours, and I only came to terms recently with the truth that, no, I don't want to be what my parents wish I would be. I think many artists struggle with familial oppression in communities of similar backgrounds, and this poem made me cry. It hits home and I'm glad you never gave up on writing. Thank you. 
 
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