Poem: To Exist

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I felt long removed from strains of inadequacy. The pain of merely remaining,

Existing.

They hounded me persistently…

Perpetual to my state

Of being.

Non-being.

If I exist, I like to think it were for the love of my art,

My craft,

My drive.

But if I don’t

If I don’t, nothing may hound me again…

And that is a fate worse than the Death I seek.