controlled
firey rage full of ice
flame brought down upon me
intrusive feeling of things so nice
shaking breaking making for a plea
standing my ground with some bravery
always expecting the final fall
locked inside this palace full of ivory
nothing left to do awaits a freedom call
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I'm 20, but many tell me I have an old soul. I go through a lot of crap all the time about what I do and who I am so my stories and poems are the only places I can be free even if they mention my troubles it is a way to breathe, though the inspiration seems to fade every time
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