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Rings wrapping around my fingers,
strapping them in should a muscle break free.
Reluctant, my mind ignores the threat,
and plays to my vain side.  Rings.
Protectively they shield my soft spot,
those revealed bones that can feel the pulse of
insanity in people, sense their falsities,
lure the gullible to some unforseen bright fate,
a lighthouse against a dark trembling world of skin.