The Drain

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The drain is broken. The substance that erupts from the ground isn't just water, but a muddy concoction of rushing noise. The sidewalk has transformed into rapids who look as if they're late to a meeting. The longer the water erupts, the further the distance of this new river. I've walked the course of these shallow waves only to realize that they're not going to end. The water creeps at a slow yet steady pace down the continuing walkway. I pause, mesmerized by the relentless movement. Observing the ambiance of the night I notice the cloudy orange sky dropping mist and the cool breeze blowing newly fallen leaves. I would like to say that this scene at 2:30 a.m. is an eerie one, but I just don't see it that way. I find it almost peaceful... that the world agrees with me for once. That sadness is real and that people break. I am not functioning as I am expected to. I am a broken drain, spilling into the empty night.

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