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Tendrils
It's a feeling
Older and more gray-white
Than sea fog
As opaque and heavy
As algae on a pond
The melancholy entangles
You in its tendrils
That tighten with your every movement
You think that if you could stop squirming
Stop pitying yourself
You'd end this symbiosis
And the beast would die
You think that if you could stop squirming
Stop pitying yourself
You'd end this symbiosis
And the beast would die
God I know this feeling so well! Nice writing!