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I sit, headphones blaring, TV on.
Listening to the feelings pouring down the black vein,
Watching the nonsense confusing my mind.
Feet as cold as deep dark forgotten waters trapped under ice.
Blue lipped, left with undisturbed thoughts.
Bubbles form, oxygen in the choking water, rising to the surface, find an escape through the tight chest, hard
crust, white, pure as lying dirt.
Slow breath, the patch of water ripples and then all is calm on the surface; bubbles brewing all the while,
The stillness lies with (in) the eyes, unblinking.
Thought bubbles rippling my mind all the while.
Music stops.
TV mute and dead, black as bruise.
Feet numb, but still good for walking, still good for waking the dead,
Disturbing the earth,
Making bubbles rise up to the see through atmosphere.
Definitely no stillness here,
Not in the quiet we hold so dear,
Everything we want, wish for, love or fear,
Lying somewhere forming bubbles.
© Lucy Ashton
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