Just Below
I drowned you. The thought of you.
Pulled you out to the middle of that big, dark, swirling lake.
Filled your pockets with the stones you had thrown at me.
Pushed you under and let the water suck you deeper.
I sit on the bank every night. Gazing over the calm water.
But it always happens, a light ripple builds into a small wave.
Bubbles begin to roll like a boiling pot of noodles.
You pop to the surface, swollen, and bloated with that grin on your face.
Leaving me to drown you all over again.
8 thoughts on "Just Below"
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I love this parable. Favorite line: “Bubbles begin to roll like a boiling pot of noodles.”
Beautiful piece. So much anguish over whatever and then trying not to lose control via the anguish and pushing it down again. Love it.
Dark inuendos and control. Well written.
This gives me the shivers!
Nightmarish, anguished, visceral poem. Well done, Wendy!
Pockets with the stones…such a great line and such an evocative poem!
Great lines, great story, great poem
That’s the way with obsessions