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On the Surface

July 30, 2015

Floating on the surface, festering away

lies the slurping, slivering, slimey scum

without direction, purpose, morally gray.

The monotonous beat of the drum

marks the close of another day.

My head begins to swell and to thrum.

A fog descends around the dreary pool

I inhale its venomous toxins.

I begin to dance and play like a fool.

Pulled by strings, in shiny moccasins.

A wide smile, too wide, pervades my face

A mark of dishonour and disgrace.

I am lured in to the darkening mud.

I stumble and fall soundlessly without a thud.

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