Too young to understand
too naïve to comprehend
But you’ve sold me short.
You’ve pulled the wool over your own,
building up the walls of your fort.
This would be the perfect time of year,
if I were far away from here.
Roaming through empty space,
searching for that familiar face.
Left and right on the frigid floor
I feel a soul radiating,
from behind a locked door.
I’m still waiting.
So many lies you’ve told, its blinding.
I no longer see, no not at all.
I no longer witness your unwinding
I catch your cries from down the hall.
I count the days that disappear.
Leaving as they do, I’m debating.
What will become of you is unclear.
So I will remain here, still waiting.
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