IOP

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Trapped.

Trapped was the way I felt.
I wanted to get out.
I still do...
Maybe it’s the scars sprawled on my arms,
Or the tears through dusk and dawn.
Maybe it’s the place I’m at.
For I’ve been gone for so long.
Maybe it’s the distance,
Between people and home.
Maybe it’s the masks worn all day,
But that couldn’t be wrong.
I’m drained, but “content” for the whole day.
Shutting the door gets me no where near locked away.
But somehow I’m still trapped...

Trapped.

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