There is a prison.
Down your throat
There's a whistle.
Clenching your chest
A pump dictates
Terms of your life.
The thing between
Your thighs cries
Purpose of your life.
While two beans around
Same region has
Mocked it all the while.
The words that
Quiver in your hand
Are in search of a
Place to safely land.
And how nice it is
If your redemption
Comes via the verses
You write.
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