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Holding its Breath
My wrist curls upon itself and shuts its eyes,
and my shocked fingers
hold onto this pen in an iron grip sweating dread,
while upon the tip of this quivering pen
the drop of ink that hangs on by its calloused finger tips
dares not look down,
for my heart-
it now holds its breath –
and my world waits for it
–to let it go
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