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bleedingink
Poems
11h
Panic
A breath caught,
snagged on a jagged edge,
pure, white terror blooms,
a blinding fog.
Footsteps echo,
too loud,
everywhere, a frantic pulse,
a hummingbird trapped.
Panic, a cold fist
around the throat,
can't see, can't think,
just run. Where?
Doesn't matter, just away.
Blind.
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bleedingink
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