PANIC

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Sitting on the toilet, waiting

for Tyche, shaking sounds of

 

thoughts vibrate. Fresh light,

frantic, newly formed,

 

illuminates acidic harm.

Brow sweat vapour dampens time,

 

damning loathing with regret.

Paint fume fears forgive

 

like bats flapping in volcanic

ash. Internet illusions irk

 

like itching souvenirs.

Evian’s my nemesis.

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