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Poetry sometimes flows, sometimes explodes in a blast of fire, but other times, it is just a scatter of thought with paper nearby at the right time.
A wall comes up
and all I can see
is everything wrong
with this
with me
Try to breath
but can't inhale
or exhale
because something
other than air
fills my lungs
absorbed straight to
my bloodstream
Heart pounding against my chest
trying to escape the panicked
Flow of thoughts
As I hone in on
Everything and nothing
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