Bryant Andrew Plymate


My Own Prison

Losing it all is a heard thing to grasp wishing on every star to rewind to the past

Kids without a father, mother with a son bullets I would eat if I only had a gun

Causing so much heartache watching the pain as I write in my letters as I try to explain

Many words wrote, apologizes denied telling them I've changed they call it a lie

Facing my kids losing my nerve asking for chances I do not deserve

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