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Passed the Lip of a Grave.

Down
a dark hole
where fears swarm
like frenzied insects

bloodthirsty, malicious,
unrelenting

as the void
attempts to swallow
me down again.

Feeling trapped.
No exit.
My deep well
of weight and fire.

Through the heavy
emotional haze
a thought breaks in:
just let me die again.

It’s the only way.
Erased or back to square one.
Another endless cycle.

I shake it off.

Guilt and shame in reflection
upon the consideration.
Scaring myself again.
Such a frightening form
of overreaction.

Crawl on out,
pass the lip of the grave,
pull myself up,
determined again.

Still bleeding, still seething,
and still fucking breathing.

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