"Alone is an addiction for Agoraphobics," ... by The Poet
Fireplace, beg a question; spark fuels naught?
Tired face lit the embers that awaken,
iron mace walled, beyond, fox and bears fraught.
My birthplace well-hushed that quiet sneak-in.
Contented engraved on my face, falsely,
consent and circumstance, hunger and thirst,
extent and measure, fed and quenched shortly,
ingested fully well, blessed, and naught...
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