soul search pain lurch like a behemoth from the deep free verse flows from me like water

. the fodder of my life what keeps me sane my psychoanalytic Freudian slip of a poem of pain just like a trip ive taken, a journey of sorts one called soul searching, a type of prerequisite torture, self loathing and sometimes, nostalgia. you sit in the darkness for hours, sometimes you pull the demons out one by one with a fine tooth comb, then find a home a safe place in your mind and reside there.

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