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Jan 2019
Crashing,
Spiralling around.

You kept me safe,
I’ve lost my sound

Our worlds collide,
My existence becomes a lie

Inhale and exhale one last time,
You never know which one will be your last breath
(But mine never seem to have reached,
Yet).
Existential crisis poem for breakfast, anyone?
Asominate
Written by
Asominate  21/Guyana, South America
(21/Guyana, South America)   
  557
   Rick
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