once i wailed

during the most vacuumous days of my depression, the eels would form gangs and circle; taunting me, then would bite my trembling hands.  my faithful grip would fail me.  my vision would become blinkered, and time would creak to a two-thirds pace.  curling like a ravenous child, i would wail; feebly attempting to bear the brunt of a cyclonic fear.  it’s beating and it’s battering and it’s breaking  pervasiveness would force itself over and down and into me.

shrilling please, please stop!
pleading please, please stop!
crying please, just please.
please. stay away.


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