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I used to be comfortable sitting here, not involved, closed to change. I allowed the metal links to wrap around me, chaining me to this familiar room. But as time told its story, the illusion began to fade, and I look outside the window, only to notice that I am behind metal bars. Imprisoned.

Solitary confinement. No-one cares to respond to my words but the echoes of the cell and the hallway beyond. I don't even know how long my sentence is, but as I sit in the company of stone and steel I remember my crimes..

They never brought to light, always shrouded by night.
I was a sneaky offender who'd never openly surrender.
But somehow I was caught and my labours were for nought.
Deep down it felt nice, knowing I now pay the price.
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My own thoughts and writing, yes. I write how I feel sometimes. I'd feel like my emotions were fake if I looked for someone else to explain them.