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sitting on the floor alone
while murmurs from the air behind
determine fate for me, confined,
the remnants of this broken home
bury shards of hate inside
and threaten to destroy all hope
what life is there for those without choice
freedom given with a price
never fulfilling promises long made
they left me to hold on
while slowly dissolving the only hold I had
and now it has detached-
and I'm falling
here the bottom of the pit
comes swiftly to meet me
and all I think is silence
for what more can I possibly feel
I, who is no more than a piece of paper.
I can't feel,
or so they say.
I know I feel but how do I prove it
it's obvious that they feel so much more than I
since I have reached my expiration date
and am overdo to be thrown away
no one wants a piece of trash
although it never bothered them
and recycling takes too much thought,

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