Sitting on the fence

no side seen to step

darkness in my legs

stands on thorns


decisive brain

death knock at the edge

weak sight of the heart

feels the pinch

of the undone


undoing the right

release the normal

firmly crossing streets

shuts mouth of realistics


where should fear be cast

bury in our hands

and speaks with our hearts

or dump at the edge of freedom

freelances see no need

manipulating items

is the weapon they hold


left at the crossroad

no gps to point the peak

closed minds

shut mouth


fights without vision

setting free pains.


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