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Feb 2018
They want me to be a plane.
Lifted by the fresh winds that they themselves create.

Hoping this flight would never end.
They made me believe instead of pretend.
I didn't mind as they dictated my life.
As long as they didn't **** me with their knife.

Then the plane comes crashing down,
Into the deep dark ocean, leaving me to drown.
I resisted the cold at first,
but soon felt comfort in the worst.

I was reminded of their stain that they have left in my brain.
This poem is about crashing from a hypomanic episode into a depressive one.
Maes
Written by
Maes  24/Genderqueer/The Netherlands
(24/Genderqueer/The Netherlands)   
255
 
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