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Panic
It was a day or two before the smells came
Silent moments of déjà vu
In which the walls whitened in sympathy
The tiles laughing their cracked guilt
How did they find me here? Stowaways
In bottles of surgical spirits
Their cold indifference stifling
They watched me from the bathroom cupboard
Gripping this last vestige of panic
Its clinical stench the smell of God
I list the words for fear in lines of nines
Our toothbrushes lying side by side
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