it's all a matter of locating
identifying, naming and processing
before it spirals.
before it grows like ivy
covering he walls of my brain
hiding and skewing the synapses
between logic and emotion.
the feeling sits ontop of my chest
like a clogged artery
or a giant gulp of peanut butter.
rocks stretch across my lungs
oxygen trapped by granite.
we all start anew.
buds start from scratch.
the world breaks apart to make room for the good.
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