Hollow halls and broken windows,
an empty convict, a worn out cell;
age counted on brick and bar.
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A psychology degree
makes understanding understood.
It doesn't stop time.
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The mind clock tick tocks
erases the sweet things
the humble kick-starts.
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I forgot who they were.
Why the who of me exists;
I don't remember how to cry.
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minor edit done on the basis of Aish's feedback (didn't warrant a full edit)