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On paper my thoughts flow from the barricade of my mind. They whisper to me every morning, but till night do they mourn, for they my my words I can never utter. Flow from pen to fingers to paper, secretly and with joyous relief are finally seen, but never heard, read but never listened to, these words my secret are hidden from view, never to please, never to grin. They my words, my secret forbidden. Tho my world free from hate, my fear ancient and rotten I hold so dear, I preen my words unclear. They do not master nor do they fold under any hand or sin. They my words forbidden. Forbidden in my lust to know of my words no matter the loss, tho my desperation fierce like any fire begging for air, I do not give my words to any sinful nature. But are the only nature to fear.