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The walls of this small room
always closing in
getting ever so nearer
The roof gasping
searching for the last breath
There must be someone on the outside
of these brick walls
A giant
pushing, always pushing
these lonely walls toward me
squeezing the last of what life is left
suffocating the search for the last breath
the room a piece of paper torn with scribbled ink
Crushed and crumpled
by the hands of a giant
At the mercy of omnipotent palms
some call it God
I call it the Self
The shackles feel tight
how did I even manage to
get them on?

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