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The people act like they know me. Act like they know what it's like to be "free". Freedom? What a fucking joke. Locked inside the bars of my own mind, rattling the cells but no one hears me.
Forced to be bruised by rough dry earth. Forced to be touched by the whiskey breath. Forced to be laid down on dirty sheets. Forced to live in fear of another's touch. Forced to carry life within womb.
I'm piecing a puzzle, but i cant seem to finish it. I mean, its finished, but its not; its all there, yet something's missing; like, the correct complete puzzle, but somehow the pieces don't fit.
I remember sititng, head against the silver wall. The engine roared, trembling the floor I slouched on. It sounded like some sort of wild beast. Looking out the open door across from me