Bounded Hands
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Would crave to hear?
Something you don't understand.
My hands are shackled.
What you don't say expands.
Your and my brains have collided.
I'm aware of what I provided.
But what did you draw?
Let's start digging our graves.
And pull our weary souls out of our sleeves.
Our fate has already been written for us.
What we view is what we believe.
My hands are shackled.
I tried, though.
Written: September 25, 2021
Copyright © Sotto Poet | Year Posted 2021
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