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W.A. MAG
Trapped
in a cement
box
with no windows.
A cell,
that shuts me in with its
symmetry.
Bars of perpendicular lines.
Foreign scribbles adorning
a black
void of chalkboard.
Numbers,
Chemical Equivalents,
Sentence Structure,
and Yesterday's Homework
point fingers at me.
mocking,
jeering,
closing me in.
Slapped into submission
by the whim of an elder,
and the ring of a bell.
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