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I wrote this particular poem for uni, and it won best poem at an open mic night, but what do I know

When light is cold and warmth is cruel
Steel is home and blue is feeling
And there is no relief for those crying
Not for hedonists nor for those kneeling
No way to stop this hopeless feeling
Clockwork workers, silently bleeding
Day in, day out and never ending
Always wanting but never needing
Clockwork people in plastic cities
Don't tell the truth of how they're feeling
They lie and cry and keep on going
And know they have no chance of healing 

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