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With blisters on my feet, I walked streets of pain.
No sense of direction or notice of time.
Dead-ends.
Locked gates.
I heard your voice in the distance calling my name.
My pace was slow.
I was weary.
No one stopped to query if I was ok.
My mind was in disarray.
I was to blame.
It is I who must change.
Too young to know the rules of the game.
So I kept walking until I could walk no more.
Then I lay down on the road and let you goad me again.
Streets of pain,
where the victims have no name.
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