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Considering my position
Somehow, all this grit makes me breathe out a wall of glass
A prison forming, where I've too much to say but am unable to be heard
Too tightly encased to generate the power needed to break out
Arms trapped by my sides
Entombed, visibly, held in a death scream
Perhaps I can return my state to that of Snow White
Serenely lay in a glass coffin
I'll be saved then, in theory
But if I'm the problem, then I never want to be let out
Maybe there's poison in my throat
The thought certainly quiets me down a while
I make a good Snow White, she was my go to avatar amongst fairytale princesses
Serves me right then, I brought it on myself
Do I shout more, not to be heard but to speed up suffocation?
Or eke out this air supply. . . . . ... .
Copyright ©
Di11y Da11y
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