When you reach out your hand
I hold on with a vice-like grip.
It is my tenuous connection to reality
And without it, all seems lost.
I'm afraid that if I let go
I won't make it back.
When we hug
I don't want to let go.
So I hold on
As if my life depended on it.
Hoping that being close to you
Will keep the craziness at bay.
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