Half left open doors
tell stories,
partly heard sentences,
building pretences,
fixing faces,
expected tasks creating masks,
whispers in bedrooms,
don't leave me with much room,
twisting and turning for space,
half embraced,
a shame and disgrace,
potential unfulfilled,
parade square drilled,
condemnation and a desperation,
formed from scores unsettled,
insult embattled,
encumbered by weights,
demonstrating defamation,
etching patience on the slate
with a scribe,
pointed end scratching,
door softly unlatching,
troublesome stubble erasing childhood,
sanding skin
like poorly finished wood,
abraded,
erases traces of self,
toys put away for another day,
robots may exist
in souls of those we'd fight to resist,
fists raised,
bruised rage,
turning of pages in books half written,
but shat on and bitten,
far too soon
by the light of a blood red moon
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