
Strangely exhausted, an afternoon, heavily slept, too much, too much, ill memories draining, they won’t rise delicately, rather seep down below the mattress, will not gently fly away. A drainage system below the surface of a city, a being, more than four times hastily gone mad, residual pain wafting from the wide walkway pipes, potent, uncleanly, needing purification: the sensations do not need resurfacing. But a town mayor deems it so, right and correct to flush this town of mental muck though the waterways will never flow with pure, clean goodness, it doesn’t hurt to try, though, does it. Her drip, drip draining like a cannula, a personal IV, feeding pain-controlling and cleansing elements to this human city, this sleeping being, in an instant there is a rush of blue then red dyed magic entering into her veins, her memories become less aching, less hounding, can the system be cleansed, and her self still remain saved? © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. Image by Semevent from Pixabay
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Interesting…..
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Thanks, I was aiming for something a little different when I wrote that.
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You succeeded with something a little different. Well done….
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Thank you, Don. 🙂
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I enjoyed reading this poem, thank you for sharing.
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Thanks so much. I’m glad it came across well.
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