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Down the Drain
In another day,
I know I’d wake up,
My head laying low,
Hands over a sink’s counter,
Sobbing about something sober,
My cries staining the metallic silver.
But that same night,
I’ll be kneeling down,
Upon the faucet’s dripping water,
And each droplet will go,
Down that drain,
Like my tears but cleaner.
Copyright ©
Celio Somerset
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