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propaganda.net : Skole & Jobb
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Do not force me

Do not feed me

You know I will not feast

 

Do not tell me

I know

I am looking for me

 

Empty, forgotten

Everything’s rotten

Smelling of sickness and ice cream

 

Lightly tinted grass walls

Stiff pressed white sheaths

I hear them ruffle and a steady beat

 

Tubes and guardrails

Where have I gone?

Is there something wrong?

 

I was smiling at me

My face hands and shins

So slender and thin

 

Prettier prettier

But who am I now

Who is there to see?

 

As light as a feather

I drift way

Suddenly I am so faint

 

I can no longer walk

I can no longer run

To weak to even have fun

 

I free myself of the white,

The green, the slight

They are starring so uncomfortably

 

Starring right past like I am paper thin

As I drift to the stars I look behind me

At my ashy gray body

 

It is to still.




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