My mind is ever open but never read.
It’s always here, waiting for
someone to save it from these 4 walls that are the human head, the human
heart, and the human itself. The mind is the saddest part of our body.
It can never get out, it can never be free, explode from color or run
through the forest. It’s always shrinking, contracting, to fit into the
walls.
The mind is always unhappy, always tied in. The mind never speaks for itself.
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