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Sonnet 12


by Lars Townsend



What do you do when the only safe space  
to crawl is under your desk, a dark womb 
or a cave, you clutch at your knees in case
that sinking in your gut tries to consume.  

What do you do when you wake up into
the day only wanting to curl inside
a little ball and disappear from view,
and from this whole shitty world that lied.
 
What do you do when you have the rope
and noose, your note and pills, ready in your 
mind, for that one day it's too bad to cope
and life is a chemistry to abhor.

I don't know.  When that feeling comes, it comes
and I get past it.  Somehow when it comes. 




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