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Shattered to pieces, in vain, I gather them to bleed

The empty walls yell

They make the same noise, one of agony indeed

As if bound by a witch’s spell.


Oft, I can’t move, from the depression I dwell

Am I a child, abulic?

I fear a slip; I’m frayed by the taste of hell

I’m neither sweet nor cherubic.


All I need is a hug, resembling the warmth of my tunic

The rope hung to proceed

Swings and that make me smitten with a wrecking panic;

I plead for heed.

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