December 27, 2012
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I feel like a stranger in my own home

is it the house that has become estrange

or is it me? What hath little did change

Walking around as your treasured drone
Crushing my spirit with no room to roam

Whose fault for my suffers in a cage

Our silly games playing years up on stage

I am your precious little glass stone

Numbing from your simple touch of cold love

In your mind you think it’s good for me

Though it’s the very thing I’m sick of

Days in chains, dark haze lifts to see

Forevermore still mind mourning dove

That I have always had the key to be

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WaffleOcean2934 This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Dec. 31, 2012 at 3:10 pm
This is very thought provoking.  Nice work!  
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