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Castle
Still I'm too weak to stay,

to grow the roots of my darkness

anywhere that's not my castle,

far from the cemetery

that lays silent

and hidden by the towers.



Occasionally I find myself

at the top of the

high walls coverd in mistique,

sneaking like a wraith

as something within the fortress

is utterly asleep.



I waste my time gazing

beyond a concrete grown in ivy,

I'd rather be there

averting my gaze from inside

where everything

is up in flames.





I know what's waiting for me

when I go back,

guess that's why I always stay

a little longer here,

watching mist on the horizon

portending something that I fear.



Inside, the thick veil of smoke

suffocates.

A taste of destruction still

decorates the square,

the stench of death

still lingers on my bare hands.



How could I let anyone see the mess

or knock down my gates,

when I'm something between

fear of being seen,

and wish for being praised.

Inside I'm enriched by death.



I am the white flag on the wind,

but also strategic defense.

Fear claims me in cold sweat,

brutality surges to the surface,

and I seal any kind of entrance

protecting the secrecy of my essence.



Such strange love

between a cage and it's bird,

protected by the endless rows of bricks.

Watching how the world

plays it's dirty tricks,

waiting passionately to see me burn.


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