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#23 (Boy on the brink)

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And his tears turn to dust from the wind in his face.
Feet planted, eyes closed, and arms raised just in case.
You can't blame him,
all those beatings grinding you down.
Water rising with the wind, just begging to make you drown.
It must be hard,
it's hardly fair.
when you just can't find those people who care.
And all you can hear are your silent screams.
and all of your fears,
burn like old gasoline.
These lines tell a tale,
but not one you'd think.
take a closer look
at the boy on the brink





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