Outwitted

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She thought she had outwitted her flesh eating psyche, it so easily grazed her
making her feel small, a slight lurch that staggers, weaving her ticking pulse into a halt.
She was continually flickering, linking her jittery concerns with reality, getting tipsy on panic.
An unfailing repetition of snagging her nail towards the top and then falling just to pick up a shovel and dig her own grave.
Why is it so hard to be the person that you want to be?

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