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Jan 2016
Drip, splash, drip
Drip-drip, splash, splash.
These are the sounds of my kitchen sink.
The drip and the splash mean
more than you think.
The whoosh of running water
filling the sink to the edge
spilling over like plink and gush.
Pooling onto the floor
soaking into the carpets;
stepping through the water like
squish, and squash, and hush.
Where do I go from here?
The kitchen sink is overflowing
and I have no clue what to do.
Though, the sound of the plink and splash
is calming. It takes me back to the beach
when I was with my Johnny Boy
and the crash and boom of waves
were so loud we couldn’t hear each other.
The memory puts me at rest.
The kitchen starts to fill past my neck,
past my nose with water.
I’m drowning like I did with my John.
The water floods my ears
making me go deaf.
But this time it’s peaceful.
It’s better than hearing the plunk and sploosh
of the sink or the rain.
Maybe I’ll stay here a while
and take away the pain.
The Spider
Written by
The Spider  20/F/wisconsin
(20/F/wisconsin)   
1.3k
   PoetryJournal
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