Pool of Me
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Oh
Wet
Shiny
Warm
Flowing
A puddle
Of myself
Spreading ...
The larger it gets
The weaker my will
And the warmer my id.
I fear the dark no longer
Like a deep pillow of nightfall
I slowly settle into its soft folds
The pain that has tortured me, drifting
Sliding off me like a blanket, as the pool grows ...
Crimson.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Contest 445 Standard Any Form" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Sponsor.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden | Year Posted 2018
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