Flailing

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You found me flailing on the bathroom floor.
A juddering heap of heaving, weeping, bleeding.
I asked, what’s there worth holding on here for?
What’s the purpose of this life that I’m keeping,
Breathing existence into, an ember of a flame
That’s so desperate and ready to be snuffed out?
And you stood, stoic, with a whisper you spoke my name,
Made it sound a truth in which you couldn’t doubt.
And so I stayed.
Please, don’t make me regret my decision that day.

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