Target (Scrap)

By Micah Clark

 

At our lowest, we’re still human

When we’re glowing, we’re immune

still we persist, amidst our own plague

The mind is a field in which we all play

and lay, what we wish to forget

When you aim for peace

It becomes a target

Bullseye, I can see the center

My heart is open

and you have entered

I dream of being saved

To be held like a stranger

But I can’t help but feel

Like my soul is in danger

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