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From a Cell of Nightmarish Illusions.

Walking the streets
with heavy feet,
head held low, unblinking
eyes drawn to the ground.

Hypertension held
in by the skin, vacuum packed
for freshness, bleeding
cold sweat condensation.

Every feeble muscle
on edge, ready for fight or flight
or to just play dead.

Feel the spotlight
burn again, not a shred
of evidence anyone
is even looking.
Still feel a thousand
eyes scrutinize, overwhelmed
by this immortal dying,
never dead and gone.

Paranoia
is just his own
negative arrogance.
That they would care
enough to judge:
inflated self-importance
infected with hate
he holds for himself,

useless illusions
sustain the cell
he is locked within.

Judge, jury,
executioner,
let him rot away,
yeah, let ’em burn.
No rights to read,
he only has wrongs

in this hell he created,
the nightmare he feeds.

Start dreaming, fool.
Invest effort, achieve jailbreak.
Keep breathing.
Start living…

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