Untitled, n = 2,011

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The fear is gone.
but lingers on.
The code is done;
the setting sun.

The fear is old,
my soul it holds.
The water's chill,
is not a thrill.

The fear is new,
a gift from you.
I thought forgot,
but turns out not.

The fear is pain,
a gentle name.
I know it well,
my favored hell.

n = 2,011; February 20th, 2017


A litany of my fears: failure, bathing, bankruptcy, and loneliness.

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