the validity of being free

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bitten nails bleed; weathered skin
sees that in the wind, we all can be
beauty. one form or the other;
my form is like nothing else
simply in that it is free.

trapped, but free, i am
unaware of how to escape;
these pages wrap my insides
up to protect me from what
i wish i could touch;
i wish i could touch
whatever is around me.

my destruction devours
my want to create;
to rend everything now
in order to sate my evils,
or to build knowing
my limits?
i cannot decide; a decision
is a tumor unnecessarily large
that the mind reels at the thought
of being ridden of;
it seems so unreal.

even as i brush
what i wish i could feel,
i know that the feelings
are anything but real;
synapses fire like bullets
through my very soul.





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