The apple tree

Take off their straightjackets
and they'll start hitting the
walls with their hands, arms,
till they bleed out of bruises.
They want out of their skin,
release from the claws,
drugs, needles, booze.
No doctors, misfortune,
bad relationships, anger.
Somewhere, deep inside,
between veins or where,
there is something vibrating,
screaming against being alone.

They'll never bloom,
bear fruit,
like the apple tree
just on the other side
of the fence.
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