Culture

I’m standing in a puddle of bath water

 

I filled my tub with hope

Believing or rather not believing

But it was all crudy and tiresome

Disappointment abounds

I had a slight reprieve

But now its all back to the same coldness

Would love for maximum warmth

But the water stings in its icyness

Sadness envelops the core of my core

And there is no balm

There is no more comfort

I’d rather be seared, contemplative, and intoxicated

Overflowing with gushing, flowing waters

But instead I’m standing in a puddle of bath water

And it should all be thrown out, baby and all

There is no proper drainage

And I’m consumed by dirt

Time to runaway, ran fast and far

Time to build up a new tub

 

 

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