Day Eighteen: Just something that came to mind.
Trapped inside the glass,
a bullpen so easily broken
and yet -
how?
Work now means nothing,
the angry voice on the phone
is nothing but a buzzing lie,
trying so hard to convince us
that there is something,
anything,
out there besides our truth.
This is our tragic present,
the state we exist in which
the entire world is looking in
and we are looking out and
we want nothing more than
for them all to walk in,
to throw keyboards and mice
like they were stones,
break our glass house and
let us live again.
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Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
Common, Watermelon
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