DBCF

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Can I please let the hidden images breath?
Would oxygen turn these souvenirs yellow with decay?
Concrete and love stories written on the wall
The pregnant woman in the cell across from me stares with eyes
Dark. With Eyes piercing. Like there’s something she knows.
Is she hiding a crime or is she looking at a criminal?
Do I see a mirror or an enemy ready to fight?
It’s only time to release the fulsome prison blues
Trapped in a corner of my vocal chords hijacked by the fearfulness

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