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May 2018
There's always a creeping terror.
Liminal time.
A sinking feeling of guilt.
Apprehensive self loathing
And, an urge to just recede.
Into that murmur at the edge of existence.
That lost place.
Some where as vacant as me.
Right now.
Somewhere I can float.
Free of my body.
Liberated from this melancholy
When my depression hits
Written by
Nolan Bucsis  34/M/Somewhere in Canada
(34/M/Somewhere in Canada)   
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