Twisting and turning, crouching around dark corners.
We hide from the walls, for they hold the light; the truths.
One can be so sure that they don't want to see it.
We avoid such objects, frightened by our own reflections.
Uneasy about who we see looking back at us.
Able to be someone else, anyone else, until our own eyes take hold on our soul.
Can you live with what you've done, or who you've become?
The truth can be paralyzing.
We live within these prisons that we've created.
Inmates due to our own alarming secrets.

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