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Enemy of the Self
Sometimes I feel tired,
Hanged, drawn and quartered,
On the ropes of my emotions, I'm wired,
On the edge of my control, I'm disordered.

Between past pain and future hopes,
Should it be this difficult,
Yet I know its me, playing a part like in TV soaps,
isn't it an insult?
Feeling like a child playing an adult.

And it...