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No Space.

Mother says
they’re just bad dreams.
Daddy thinks
I’m seeing things.

Your studies suggest
that I’m insane.
So what does all that noise
really mean?

When they come back again,
it amounts to fucking nothing.

You can no
sooner protect me
than I can wish
them away.

My hands are tied,
back against the wall.
I’ve tried everything.

Throughout denial, beliefs,
death, drugs and running,
changes of interpretation,
fighting, attempting
true communication,
fucked-up reality
remains unchanged.

This is just a part of me.

Like shadows, forever following.
Inside or out,
there is no escaping.

There is no space
they are not invading.

Nothing left
here but wading.


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