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  • Alone in the common room,
    numb, exhausted,
    chemically lobotomized,
    I watch them shuffle across the gleaming tile
    to the interview room
    where they bare their souls.
    I see pain, fear, anguish
    and wonder...
    Can anyone love these broken souls,
    bent by the darkness
    that weighs so heavily upon them?
    Does anyone still cry for them?

    Some surrender easily,
    going quietly with the demons
    that clutch and pull at them,
    dragging them down into a place
    where the light no longer penetrates the shadows,
    and everything they see is a mirage
    drawing them further into the barrens of the mind.
    The tough ones resist the descent,
    clawing, crying, cursing,
    fighting against the black walls
    that close in around them
    until they have fallen so far
    their voices are no longer heard.

    I wonder, does anyone still cry for me?
    Or have the tears of those I've loved
    long since dried up?
    My turn comes,
    my name is called,
    and I shuffle across the gleaming tile
    and wonder what my eyes tell.
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