walls so tall and strong
like a bullet through iron
my ghosts cannot speak
throats torn and scratched
coarse-grained sand became a friend
on those lonely days
trapped inside a box of terror
sheeps locked inside their pen
hidden behind the iris
the sound remains a secret
and the hinges have squeaked
but no one can find their way
freedom has lost its sense of direction
the orbs have run away to the countryside
kicking up the dirt
but even that has broken
there is no open door
no exit
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